THE    BEVERLEYS 


THE    BEVERLEYS 


a    )tor    of  Calcutta 


BY 

MARY    ABBOTT 

AUTHOR  OF  "ALEXIA" 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.   McCLURG   AND    COMPANY 
1890 


COPYRIGHT 

BY  A.  C.  MCCLURG  AND  Co. 
A.  D.  1890 


THE   BEVERLEYS, 


CHAPTER   I. 

T^HE  Winterfords  were  at  breakfast,  and  Eileen 
-*•  had  not  yet  come  down.  It  was  late ;  but 
it  always  is  late  in  India,  —  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
households  of  men  in  any  of  the  services,  civil,  mili 
tary,  and  forensic.  The  head  of  this  one  —  if  it 
could  be  said  to  have  a  head,  or  if  Barney  Winter- 
ford  could  be  said  to  be  the  head  of  anything  — 
had  nothing  more  exigent  on  most  days  than  the 
exercising  of  his  saddle-horses  to  demand  his  early 
morning  attention.  He  had  not  even  been  out  for 
his  usual  gallop  this  time,  but  was  sleepily  assimi 
lating  a  scolding,  with  his  curry  and  rice,  from  his 
wife,  Philippa. 

Philippa  —  in  other  words,  Lady  Barney  Winter- 
ford  —  had  rarely  allowed  herself  to  descend  to  the 
role  of  a  fault-finder  until  lately,  although  she  might 
have  done  so  at  any  moment  for  seventeen  years, 
with  every  excuse  in  life.  Remonstrance,  vain  but 
irresistible,  was  becoming  more  of  a  habit  with  her 
latterly,  however ;  for  she  found  her  patience  pretty 


6  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

well  at  an  end.  A  long  course  of  separation  from  her 
children,  of  jungle-fevers,  and  all  kinds  of  malarial 
distempers,  —  for  they  had  not  always  been  lodged 
sumptuously  in  Calcutta,  —  and  a  very  long  and  trying 
course  of  her  husband,  Barney,  had  worn  a  temper 
once  of  the  sweetest  to  a  point,  and  that  a  sharp 
one. 

Philippa  had  been  out  in  India  a  good  many  years. 
Seven  children  had  been  born  to  her,  from  each  of 
whom,  one  after  the  other,  she  had  been  obliged  to 
sever  herself  with  a  mighty  wrench.  Until  this  last 
year  there  had  always  been  one  child  young  enough 
to  stay  with  her ;  but  Biddy,  the  baby,  was  five,  and 
Philippa,  in  a  real  agony,  had  left  the  last  precious 
one  with  its  grandfather  in  England,  knowing  it  dan 
gerous  to  the  child's  health  to  keep  it  any  longer  in 
a  hot  climate.  It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  her ;  no 
one,  from  her  haughty  and  self-contained  demeanor, 
suspected  how  terrible.  And  although  she  had 
never  up  to  this  time  swerved  from  her  fidelity  to 
Barney,  —  who,  to  say  truth,  was  not  exactly  the  man 
to  be  cast  loose  on  his  own  recognizances  in  a  gay 
country  like  India,  —  Philippa  was  fast  losing  her 
steadfastness,  and  her  self-control  too,  and  showed 
her  utter  weariness  of  spirit  by  ordinary  apathy  to 
most  persons  and  things,  and  now  and  then  extraor 
dinary  severity  to  Barney. 

It  was  his  sixteenth  year  in  India,  this  bad  Barney, 
and  he  was  only  now  magistrate  of  the  "  24-Pergun- 
nahs  "  in  Calcutta.  Men  who  had  never  blinked  at  an 
eastern  sun  until  long  after  Barney  had  been  dried 
and  seasoned  by  a  many  years'  process  of  them,  were 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  7 

drawing  handsome  salaries  as  High  Court  Judges  or 
officers  of  the  Viceroy's  Council.  It  had  been  Bar 
ney's  own  fault,  —  his  bad  luck,  of  course  he  said. 
He  had  done  wild  things  in  his  youth,  and  middle 
age  had  not  steadied  him  to  slowness.  He  was,  not 
to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it,  good  for  nothing ;  and 
Philippa  knew  it. 

Besides  all  this  as  one  may  say  chronic  grievance, 
the  subject  of  the  breakfast-table  philippic  was  an 
other  and  an  acuter  cause  of  complaint. 

Anything  sweeter  or  more  peaceful  than  the  scene 
it  would  be  hard  to  find.  As  Philippa  sat  in  her 
high-backed  wrought-ebony  chair,  she  could  gaze, 
through  wide  French  window-ways,  with  arches  of 
shrubbery  for  further  frames,  at  lovely  flowering  trees, 
and  ivies,  and  all  kinds  of  tropic  wonders,  growing  in 
gay  profusion.  The  air  was  blossoming  with  fairy 
orchids ;  pointzettias  and  bright  red  hibiscus  made 
flames  of  color  in  the  glowing  distance.  In  the  fore 
ground  were  the  aloes  and  the  yucca  and  the  com 
moner  garden  flowers,  —  the  brighter  ones  having 
taken  to  themselves  Oriental  dyes,  it  seemed ;  for  a 
color  must  be  vivid  in  India  or  the  sun  fades  every 
vestige  of  hue  from  it.  The  air  was  filled  with  sweet 
ness,  not  pungent,  but  languid.  The  very  roses, 
which  are  gay  and  self-asserting  in  a  colder  clime, 
are  delicate  and  faint,  like  women  under  the  same 
conditions,  in  an  eastern  air.  The  room  in  which 
Philippa  sat  —  as  discontented  a  woman  as  ever  sat 
—  was  full  of  softness  and  luxury  and  perfume. 
Crystal  lamps  hung  from  the  ceiling  by  broad  bands 
of  crimson  silk ;  the  curtains  were  of  the  same  rich 


8  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

hue  and  of  a  marvellous  texture ;  rugs  of  the  deep 
est,  softest  pile  covered  the  tessellated  floor,  —  for  this 
was  the  cold  weather,  although  its  rigors  were  hardly 
extreme.  Turbaned  and  draped  retainers  awaited 
in  silence  the  faintest  breath  of  behest.  Everything 
spoke  of  comfort  and  of  ease.  How  little  was  of 
either  in  that  barren  house  ! 

"  You  know  very  well,  Barney,"  Philippa  was  say 
ing,  as  she  toyed  with  her  fruit,  "  I  have  sacrificed 
myself  in  everything.  I  was  willing  enough  to  bring 
Eileen  out  the  first  time,  and  to  do  all  in  my  power 
to  marry  her  well  and  to  keep  her  from  throwing 
herself  away  on  that  wretch.  And  in  spite  of  her 
idiotic  refusals  of  fine  offers,  and  her  suicidal  accept 
ance  of  the  worst  one  she  had ;  in  spite  of  her 
escapades  and  follies,  in  every  one  of  which  you 
encouraged  her,  Barney," — a  twinkle  came  into 
Barney's  eye,  —  "  you  know  how  fond  I  have  always 
been  of  Eileen,  even  although  you  have  spent  more  on 
her  than  you  have  ever  spent  on  your  own  children." 
Barney  sighed  resignedly.  "  When  it  came  to  bring 
ing  her  out  the  second  time,  —  a  young  widow,  with 
no  signs  of  widowhood  about  her  except  her  inde 
pendence,  and  with  all  those  shocking  clouds  hang 
ing  over  her,  —  it  was  too  much  for  me  to  undertake, 
I  felt ;  and  yet  I  tried  to  do  my  best  then.  But  now 
that  she  is  going  on  in  exactly  the  same  old  way, 
flirting  wildly  with  ineligible  men,  spending  no 
end  of  money,  and  giving  one  more  than  one  can 
possibly  do  to  look  after  her,  without  the  excuses  of 
youth  and  inexperience  she  had  before,  I  say,  Barney, 
that  something  must  be  done  to  stop  it.  And  if  you 


THE  BEYER  LEYS.  9 

won't  take  some  step,  I  must.  I  am  not  called  upon 
to  endure  this  sort  of  thing  any  longer,  and  Eileen 
is  ruining  herself."  Philippa  had  never  in  her  life 
spoken  so  explicitly  to  Barney ;  but  her  speech  had 
gathered  impetus  as  it  rose  from  her  lips. 

Ordinarily,  Barney  Winterford  was  one  mass  of 
good-nature.  Your  harum-scarums  mostly  are.  He 
could  not  argue,  for  several  reasons;  one  being  his 
ignorance  of  any  coherent  line,  and  another  his  lazi 
ness,  —  it  was  too  much  trouble.  But  Eileen  was  his 
idol,  —  his  sister,  and  the  one  person  who  combined, 
for  him,  all  human  attraction.  He  never  heard  her 
disparaged  without  a  protest.  "My  darlin',''  he  said, 
sleepy  still,  but  not  without  a  flush,  "  when  will  you 
learn  not  to  exaggerate  ?  You  mean  Jack  Beverley, 
I  suppose,  when  you  say  '  ineligible '  men  and 
Eileen  is  '  flirting  wildly,'  because  he  is  no  good  as 
a  parti,  and  because  she  won't  look  at  old  Warwick, 
who  's  a  catch.  I  wish  she  would  marry  Warwick ; 
you  know  how  I  Ve  tried  to  bring  it  about.  But 
she  won't.  If  Jack  were  a  match  now,  you  would 
say  Eileen  was  behaving  most  discreetly  in  encour 
aging  him.  I  don't  know  that  she  is  leading  him 
on  any  more  than  a  dozen  others.  How  the  men 
do  like  her  !  " 

"Like  her?  Of  course  they  like  her.  No  one 
can  help  liking  her.  But  only  the  poverty-stricken 
younger  sons  —  and  Mr.  Warwick  —  want  to  marry 
her.  Men  like  anybody  who  is  pretty  and  fascinat 
ing,  and  amuses  them,  and  has  a  good  seat  on  a 
horse.  But  Eileen  can't  afford  to  go  in  for  that  sort 
of  thing  alone.  She  must  look  for  something  else ; 


10  THE  B  EVER  LEYS. 

and  she's  not  a  girl  any  more,  to  be  wasting  her 
time  and  her  looks,  as  she  does." 

"Well,  what  is  she  then?"  retorted  Barney. 
"  Faith,  she 's  not  one-and-twenty,  and  had  misery 
enough  with  that  brute  Beaufort  to  last  a  score  of 
years.  As  for  giving  you  more  than  you  can  man 
age  to  look  after  her,  my  love,  when  was  that?  We 
sent  you  home  from  the  Friths'  ball  at  one ;  and 
did  n't  I  look  after  the  child  myself,  —  and  I  blind 
in  both  eyes  from  sleep?  " 

"  Yes,  there  's  an  instance,"  quickly  broke  in  Phi- 
lippa,  —  "  that  ball !  Eileen  was  fairly  stared  at  the 
whole  night.  So  free  and  off-hand  in  her  manner,  — 
so  gay,  and  as  if  she  had  not  a  care  !  Valsing  madly 
about  like  a  top,  and  going  on  for  all  the  world  like 
an  American  !  Her  looks,  bearing,  those  of  a  girl 
of  eighteen,  at  most !  " 

"And  just  as  long  as  she  can  look  eighteen,  I 
hope  she  will  then,"  replied  Barney,  whose  sleepi 
ness  had  entirely  departed.  "If  she  keeps  her 
smooth  skin  and  her  merry  laugh  and  her  yellow 
hair,  like  a  baby's,  I  '11  be  the  last  man  to  begrudge 
them  to  her,  the  lamb  !  "  Barney  had  not  shown 
much  anxiety  to  preserve  Philippa's  skin  or  her  hair 
or  her  laugh,  but  I  doubt  if  he  would  have  done 
much  more  than  talk  about  Eileen's.  "  If  she 
were  to  have  nothing  but  wild  merriment  from  now 
till  the  day  of  her  death,  and  that  fifty  years  hence, 
it  would  not  make  up  for  the  agony  that  girl  has 
suffered.  It 's  precious  few,  now  I  tell  you,  Philippa, 
who  go  through  half  Eileen  has  done,  or  bear  it 
with  half  her  spirit." 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS.  II 

"  I  know  all  about  her  sufferings,  Barney,  as  well 
as  you,"  said  Philippa;  "and  if  it  were  a  question 
of  mad  merriment  only,  she  might  make  the  welkin 
ring  with  it,  and  I  should  be  charmed,  I  'm  sure. 
But  there's  very  little  merriment  ahead  for  her," 
she  said,  changing  her  tone,  and  speaking  gravely, 
"  unless  she  will  honestly  try  to  help  herself.  Why 
can't  she  marry  Mr.  Warwick?  He  is  not  old,  al 
though  you  call  him  so  (and  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
before  her,  Barney),  —  he  is  not  a  parvenu;  he  is 
very  gentlemanlike  —  and  fabulously  rich." 

"  I  don't  know  why  she  won't,"  said  Barney,  in 
a  low  tone. 

Philippa  went  on :  "  Eileen  has  never  been  taunted, 
as  she  might  have  been  with  reason  sometimes,  as 
the  cause  of  all  her  own  misfortunes.  If  she  had 
not  run  counter  to  all  our  wishes,  and  thrown  her 
self  away  upon  a  horrid  wretch,  she  would  never 
have  been  in  this  ridiculous  position.  Then  she 
would  pay  off  a  lot  of  Aleck  Beaufort's  gambling 
debts ;  and  the  result  is,  our  innocent  pockets  — 
innocent  of  money  as  well  as  of  Eileen's  obligations 
—  suffer,  for  she  can't  dress  even  on  her  own  in 
come.  If  you  were  not  so  free  with  your  money, 
Barney,  showering  it  on  these  men,  who  seem  to 
me  to  live  at  your  expense,  one  might  not  have  to 
be  so  perpetually  fretted.  But  to  see  our  small 
means  squandered,  our  children  never  destined 
to  anything  more  than  a  writing  acquaintance  with 
their  parents,  —  for  I  don't  see  but  that  we  shall 
have  to  stay  here  forever,  —  our  lives  going,  ray 
health  shattered  !  " 


12  THE  B  EVER  LEYS. 

It  was  not  like  this  most  self-contained  of  women 
to  go  on  thus,  and  Barney  thought  he  heard  a  faint 
sob.  This  would  have  brought  him  to  his  knees,  if 
his  wife  had  not  resumed,  having  stopped  to  take 
breath  merely. 

"  Ida  has  written  me  only  lately  that  it  seems  to 
her  grossly  unfair  that  Gerald  should  have  to  sup 
port  their  children,  when  you  do  not  one  thing  for 
ours."  Ida  was  Philippa's  sister,  and  Gerald  her 
husband.  "Their  Alan  is  old  enough  to  go  to  a 
public  school,  and  they  have  to  pinch  to  send  him  ; 
and  here  is  our  Barney,  she  says,  sailing  off  to 
Rugby  without  a  penny  from  you.  It  is  an  old 
story,  Barney,  —  I  know  you  are  tired  of  hearing 
about  it,  as  indeed  am  I  of  talking,  —  but  a  change 
must  come.  Papa  sees  the  justice  of  Ida's  feeling, 
as  indeed  must  we,  Barney.  He  writes  so  gently, 
and  yet  I  know  he  is  embarrassed.  It  is  terribly 
trying  to  me." 

And  this  time  Barney  was  sure  he  heard  a  sob. 
It  was  an  unwonted  sound  from  that  quarter.  He 
might  be  coming  to  the  end  of  his  tether.  He 
must  pacify  her.  "  Don't  cry,  Flip,"  he  said  gently 
across  the  table ;  "  don't  worry,  darlin'  !  I  sold 
Polly  for  fourteen  hundred  rupees  yesterday,  and 
the  Governor  has  just  sent  me  a  hundred  pounds. 
I  '11  soon  have  Dankipore,"  —  this  was  a  magistracy 
for  which  Barney  had  longed,  not  enough  to  make 
an  effort  for  it,  however,  for  years,  —  "  and  you  shall 
have  Biddy  on  your  knee  in  another  six  months,  if 
you  choose  to  go  home." 

While    Barney  was  uttering  the   first  words,  he 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  13 

was  regretting  them.  He  had  not  intended  to  tell 
Philippa  of  the  money,  nor  indeed  had  he  meant  to 
put  it  to  any  useful  purpose  whatever.  And  to  tell 
the  truth,  he  had  partly  promised  to  lend  a  good 
deal  of  it  to  an  impecunious  brother  dare-devil  with 
less  means  than  himself,  and  no  conscience  at  all. 
Well,  he  was  in  for  it  now. 

Philippa  brightened.  It  gave  her  a  thrill  to  know 
that  they  really  had  an  extra  penny ;  but  she  knew 
that  unless  she  could  get  it  into  her  own  hands, 
they  might  as  well  not  have  had  it.  She  smiled 
upon  her  husband.  "What  could  have  come 
in  more  handily?"  she  said  brightly.  "Were  you 
going  to  surprise  me  with  it?  Send  papa  the  hun 
dred  pounds ;  it  will  relieve  him  and  me,  and  it 
will  start  Barney  at  school,  at  all  events.  Why,  it 
will  almost  keep  him  there  a  twelvemonth.  You  '11 
do  it,  won't  you,  dear?"  she  asked  anxiously,  for 
Barney's  face  had  fallen.  It  no  longer  seemed  odd 
and  unnatural  for  a  mother  to  be  pleading  to  a  father 
for  his  own  children.  Years  had  made  a  usage  of 
it.  The  first  thing  now  was  to  make  Barney  promise, 
and  the  next,  to  see  that  he  kept  his  word  ;  for  Barney 
had  been  known  to  wriggle  out  of  very  minute  aper 
tures  ;  and  slips  betwixt  cups  and  lips  were  familiar 
commodities  to  the  Lady  Barney  Winterford. 

Barney  had  risen  from  his  place,  and  was  standing 
now  near  the  door.  Philippa  too  rose,  and  ap 
proaching  him,  looked  appealingly  into  Barney's 
face.  "  Yes,  yes,  my  love,  I  '11  send  it,  I  '11  send  it," 
he  said  with  impatience.  "  I  'm  sorry  your  father 
has  to  pay  my  son's  schooling.  You  see  you  ought 


14  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

never  to  have  married  a  beggar."  And  Barney 
drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  as  if  he  had  said 
prince  instead.  He  could  be  very  dignified  on 
ready  money,  even  although  it  was  a  short-lived 
glory.  "  I  'm  grieved  Ida  should  have  had  to  write 
you  such  a  nasty,  jealous  letter."  And  Barney  fan 
cied  himself  wounded  and  indignant.  If  he  was,  it 
was  at  having  to  pay  the  money. 

But  that  promise  —  he  had  not  made  it  before 
he  had  resolved  to  break  it.  Only,  this  tete-a-tete 
must  end.  Barney  did  not  care  to  repeat  words 
which  might  rise  inconveniently  to  confront  him ; 
and  Philippa  might  ask  him  to  swear.  She  had 
done  that  before. 

Barney  jarred  his  bearer,  who  was  about  to  pre 
sent  a  small  silver  stand  upon  which  glowed  a  ball 
of  fire,  —  for  Barney  was  twiddling  in  his  fingers 
an  unlighted  cheroot.  The  ball  fell  to  the  floor, 
and  was  dashed  into  a  hundred  fiery  fragments 
on  the  rug.  "  Son  of  a  pig  !  "  remarked  Barney, 
calmly,  in  Hindustani,  hardly  glancing  at  the  un 
fortunate  Hindu,  who  was  dancing  wildly  upon  the 
glowing  coals  to  put  them  out.  Philippa  did  not 
even  turn ;  it  was  too  every  day  an  occurrence ; 
the  goolies  were  forever  dropping  about,  and  the 
servants  never  burned  their  feet.  They  would  not 
presume. 

Barney  lighted  his  cheroot  at  one  of  the  still 
burning  bits,  which  the  bearer  had  hastily  placed 
with  his  fingers  back  upon  the  stand.  Then  he 
sauntered  through  the  hall  to  the  big  middle  door 
way.  He  thought  he  heard  a  horse's  step  upon  the 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  15 

drive.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  tell  Philippa 
about  that  money !  "  Barney,"  she  said  hastily, 
"  here  comes  somebody.  Promise  me  that  you  will 
say  nothing  about  the  fourteen  hundred  rupees  until 
I  can  talk  with  you  further ;  and  send  the  hundred 
pounds  to  England  to-day."  But  there  was  no  time 
to  answer ;  the  man  had  dismounted,  and  was  run 
ning  up  the  porte-cochere  steps. 

The  new-comer  was  named  Stanhope,  captain  by 
courtesy,  —  in  reality  a  lieutenant,  and  an  aide-de 
camp  to  the  Viceroy,  —  a  short,  thick-set  fellow, 
rather  handsome,  not  very  bad,  but  the  very  man 
Philippa  hated  most  in  Calcutta.  For  he  seemed  to 
possess  the  faculty  —  all  men  had  it,  or  could  have 
had  it,  for  the  cultivation,  but  this  one  possessed  it 
in  a  supreme  degree  —  of  getting  money  out  of  her 
husband ;  and  Philippa  knew  that  Captain  Stanhope 
could  smell  fourteen  hundred  rupees  in  the  air,  and 
come  swooping  down  upon  them  like  an  adjutant 
or  a  buzzard.  So  Philippa  held  out  a  gracious  hand, 
and  smiled  sweetly.  He  was  to  be  conciliated  above 
all  things,  and  fascinated  if  possible,  and  kept  away 
from  Barney. 

Most  women  are  faded  in  India ;  and  Philippa 
still  passed  for  a  beauty,  when  no  fresher  ones  were 
by.  She  had  a  statuesque,  high-bred  face,  and  had 
been  a  beauty  in  her  day.  Her  hair  was  still  good, 
and  her  eyes  fine.  As  for  her  figure,  it  was  perfect ; 
and  men  said  she  alone  in  India  knew  how  to  walk. 

"Your  garden  is  so  much  better  than  mine,  Lady 
Barney,"  said  Stanhope,  "that  I  like  to  come  in 
and  look  at  it.  How  well  your  hibiscus  grows  ! 


1 6  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

That  double  yellow  bush  near  the  gate  is  the  finest 
thing  I  ever  saw." 

"  Yes,"  said  Barney,  with  a  mocking  look  at 
Stanhope,  "  thousands  come  to  see  that  bush  every 
day  !  Beautiful  thing,  is  n't  it  ?  Hibiscus  is  so  un 
common  in  India  too.  There  are  n't  more  than  a 
dozen  bushes  in  every  compound  !  " 

"  Don't  mind  him,  Mr.  Stanhope,"  said  Philippa, 
playfully,  making  up  her  mind  she  would  not  allow 
this  man  to  leave  her,  unless  to  walk  into  Eileen's 
hands.  He  should  not  have  a  private  talk  with 
Barney,  until  that  money  was  disposed  of.  "Will 
you  come  up  to  the  veranda,"  she  said,  "  or  shall 
we  go  to  the  stables  and  see  Eileen's  new  Arab  ?  I 
want  to  ask  you  what  you  think  of  her  mounting  such 
a  wild  animal."  They  walked  in  the  direction  of 
the  stables,  a  chuprassi  running  after  them  with  a 
scarlet  umbrella,  which  he  held  over  the  lady's  head  ; 
and  Stanhope  had  hardly  time  for  a  word,  Philippa 
was  so  voluble  and  gracious.  It  was  so  overdone, 
her  manner,  that  neither  Barney  nor  Stanhope  was 
deceived  by  it. 

Barney  still  stood  in  the  doorway  smoking.  He 
could  yet  afford  to  be  in  tolerable  spirits ;  although 
he  had  made  promises  to  both  his  wife  and  Stan 
hope,  he  might  be  able  to  escape  both.  Stanhope 
would  not  be  easy  to  shake  off;  but  Philippa  — 
pooh  !  He  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  smiled  se 
renely.  "Why,  why"  he  said,  after  a  moment  to 
himself,  "must  I  be  such  an  egregious  idiot  as  to 
tell  everything  I  know?  I  'm  like  a  baby.  The  fact 
is,  I  am  so  deucedly  soft-hearted  and  confiding  that 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  1 7 

I  injure  myself  all  the  time.  I  might  have  known 
Flip  would  make  me  do  some  confounded  useful 
thing  or  other  with  that  money.  I  'm  hanged  if 
I  '11  pay  a  bill.  Where 's  the  pleasure  that  lucre  is 
supposed  to  give  a  man,  if  he  has  to  pay  it  right 
away  for  worn-out  coats,  and  dinners  that  were  not 
only  eaten  long  ago,  but  which  very  likely  disagreed 
with  him  ?  No,  I  '11  not  —  " 

As  Lord  Barney  Winterford  stood  in  the  great 
doorway,  framed  in  thick  verdure,  his  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  white  flannel  coat,  his  honest  eyes  and 
his  cravat  as  blue  as  the  skies,  his  blond  hair  parted 
carefully  down  the  middle,  and  a  general  air  of  can 
dor  and  fresh  young  innocence  about  him,  you  would 
have  staked  your  life  upon  his  perfect  truth  ;  and,  gen 
tle  or  ungentle  reader,  I  need  not  tell  you  whether 
you  would  have  lost  your  valuable  stake  or  not. 

Barney  was  interrupted  by  another  visitor,  an 
adorer  of  his  sister's  this  time,  the  very  Jack  Bever- 
ley  whom  Philippa  had  called  ineligible.  He  was  a 
great  favorite  of  Barney's,  perhaps  for  the  reason 
that  he  was  his  exact  antipodes.  "Arrah,  then," 
called  out  the  host,  "  keep  off  the  grass  !  What  are 
you  doing  in  a  gentleman's  compound  ? "  and  he 
sprang  down  the  steps,  seized  the  Captain  by  the 
waist,  and  threw  him.  The  other  was  more  than  a 
match  for  Barney,  however ;  and  as,  after  a  few  mo 
ments  of  wrestling,  Captain  Beverley  stood  over  his 
fallen  foe,  his  hand  outstretched  in  a  theatrical  atti 
tude,  he  looked  up  suddenly  and  flushed  with  some 
thing  more  than  victory,  for  there  was  a  vision  in  the 
doorway. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  PRETTY,  a  very  pretty  creature  was  Eileen 
*"*•  Beaufort.  Tall  and  straight  she  was,  and  slight ; 
with  Irish  eyes,  —  those  great,  heavily  veiled,  dark 
gray  eyes,  with  no  end  to  the  possibilities  in  their 
depth  nor  the  depths  in  their  possibilities ;  with 
gold  wavy  hair,  —  deep  gold,  not  the  usual  blond,  — 
shading  her  white  forehead;  with  lips  that  were 
dewy  and  bright,  and  with  a  skin  of  cream  and 
roses,  —  rare  indeed  in  India.  A  mocking,  sweet- 
lipped  goddess  Eileen  looked,  as  she  stood,  framed 
by  lycopodium  and  panax,  in  the  wide  doorway. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  two  men,  one  of 
whom  looked  a  trifle  embarrassed,  as  he  came 
laughing  up  the  steps. 

"  Oh,  Barney,  you  baby ! "  cried  the  goddess, 
rippling  into  laughter,  with  a  touch  of  scorn,  as 
Barney  rose  from  the  grass,  displaying  large  green 
spots  upon  his  white  raiment.  "  To  wrestle  in  this 
heat  too  !  You  are  just  as  foolish,  Captain  Beverley, 
only  I  dare  not  say  so  !  Is  not  that  truly  Irish?  " 
she  added  archly,  holding  out  a  hand  to  the  younger 
man.  "  I  have  not  breakfasted  yet ;  you  may  both 
come  and  see  me  eat  an  egg  and  an  ortolan,  if  you 
like." 


THE    SEVER  LEYS.  19 

"  Ortolans  for  breakfast ! "  shouted  Barney.  "  You  '11 
ruin  me  with  your  extravagance.  Besides,  there  are  n't 
any  (Irish  again)  ;  so  don't  deceive  yourself." 

"  I  only  said  it  on  account  of  the  two  vowels 
sounding  well  together,  literal  person  !  "  said  Eileen. 
"  Don't  disturb  yourself,  embodiment  of  frugality  !  I 
have  ordered  nothing  costly." 

Barney  patted  his  sister  on  the  back.  If  he  had 
a  strength,  —  one  could  hardly  call  it  a  weakness  in 
such  a  character,  —  it  was  his  fondness  for  Eileen. 

Captain  Beverley  followed  into  the  breakfast-room 
with  joy  undisguised  in  every  movement.  His  ad 
miration  for  Eileen  was  unfeigned  and  unconcealed. 

Barney  strode  through  the  huge  room,  and  stood 
on  the  back  veranda,  whistling  softly  to  the  birds  in 
their  cages  there.  He  usually  devoted  a  few  min 
utes  each  day  to  the  birds,  and  a  good  many  minutes 
to  the  horses  and  dogs  of  his  establishment.  He 
rode  hard,  but  never  abused  an  animal ;  and  all  the 
beasts  adored  him.  The  aviary  included  a  large 
cage  of  quail  which  had  been  bought  to  fatten  for 
the  table.  "  I  should  as  soon  think  of  eating  my 
own  children  as  those  things  I  Ve  been  feeding  and 
petting  !  "  Barney  exclaimed,  when  there  was  a  talk 
of  despatching  them.  So  the  collection  grew,  owing 
to  Barney's  soft-heartedness.  And  he  who  willingly 
saw  his  own  offspring  fed  and  petted  by  his  wife's 
relations,  and  who  knew  little  or  nothing  of  his  chil 
dren's  joys  and  sorrows,  would  shed  tears  at  the  sight 
of  one  of  his  pets  in  pain.  Barney's  tears  were  near 
the  surface,  and  the  water  was  shallow. 

Another  step  was  heard,  —  on  the  gravel  walk  at 


20  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

the  garden  side  of  the  house  this  time,  —  and  Barney 
looked  out.  Jack's  father,  Colonel  Beverley,  —  a 
magnificent,  soldierly  man,  not  sturdier  than  Jack,  but 
far  more  showy, — had  appeared  upon  the  scene.  He 
might  almost  have  been  Jack's  brother,  if  you  did 
not  scan  his  face  too  closely  and  discover  the  lines 
there.  Jack  was  like  his  father  in  certain  turns  of 
the  head  and  motions  of  the  shoulders  and  arms ; 
and  his  face  took  on  now  and  then,  but  rarely,  that 
sudden  resemblance  which  disappears  like  a  flash 
light  before  you  can  recognize  it  or  give  it  a  name. 
Jack  was  called  a  plain  presentment  of  his  father. 
The  Colonel  was  certainly  handsomer ;  his  telling 
eyes  were  in  constant  use  and  knew  many  wonderful 
tricks ;  these,  together  with  his  superb  gray  mus 
tache,  his  impressed  manner,  and  his  great  air  of 
distinction,  had  been  fatal  to  the  peace  of  mind  of 
many  a  woman,  whereas  Jack  had  hardly  had  a  con 
quest.  Jack  was  younger  naturally,  and  then  he  had 
not  learned  as  yet  many  arts.  His  mustache  was  a 
trifle  ragged,  and  his  eyes  were  not  trained  to  execu 
tion.  And  then  he  was  run  in  another  mould. 

Barney  made  a  salaam  to  the  new-comer,  and 
moved  forward  to  meet  him.  The  Colonel  replied 
to  the  salute  by  a  cut  across  his  host's  legs  with  his 
walking-stick.  It  was  evident  that  Barney  and  his 
friends  were  on  informal  terms. 

"  How  are  you,  Paddy  ? "  said  the  visitor. 
"  Did  n't  I  see  Jack  disappear  into  the  house  by  the 
other  doorway?  I  thought  I  could  cut  him  off  at 
this  end.  What  is  he  doing  here?  Boring  Lady 
Barney  and  your  sister,  I  '11  be  bound.  By  the  by, 


THE  REVERLEYS.  21 

Barney,  what  a  glorious  picture  Lady  Ellen  made 
last  night  at  the  Friths'  !  She  's  the  handsomest 
being  Calcutta  has  seen  for  many  a  long  day." 

"  Bad  blood  !  "  said  Barney,  shrugging  his  shoul 
ders  and  motioning  over  them,  to  show  that  he  might 
be  overheard.  The  two  sauntered  down  the  gravel 
walk.  "  Philippa  has  been  giving  me  Cain  about 
her  this  morning."  Barney  always  told  everything 
he  knew  to  anybody.  "  There  's  no  accounting 
for  women,  Bev,  except  that  you  may  be  sure  the 
pretty  ones  will  have  to  catch  it !  " 

"  And  the  ugly  ones  too,"  said  the  Colonel,  dryly. 
"  I  'd  rather  catch  what  the  pretty  ones  get  and  take 
the  risks.  But  what  has  Lady  Ellen  done  now? 
Has  she  been  flirting  too  palpably  with  my  poor 
child?  He's  taken  to  poetry,  Barney,"  said  the 
Colonel,  stopping  short  and  bursting  into  a  laugh ; 
"and  when  a  fellow  without  a  brain  in  his  head 
takes  to  that,  he  's  pretty  bad.  The  boy  is  getting 
beyond  me  though,  truly.  Here  he  is,  an  ugly  dog, 
without  a  farthing  in  his  pocket,  —  in  debt,  I  believe, 
—  and  he  's  already  been  going  on  so  with  that  girl 
the  Olmsteads  brought  out,  —  what's  her  name? 
Sidney  Markham,  —  that  I  'm  positively  ashamed  to 
meet  any  of  the  family.  Now,  here  he  is,  boring 
Lady  Ellen  into  her  grave.  He  's  really  in  earnest 
this  time,  no  doubt,  or  thinks  he  is.  But  the  fool 
can't  marry,  even  if  Lady  Ellen  consented  to  think 
of  such  a  cub.  I  wish  you  'd  stop  the  thing,  Barney, 
if  you  have  any  influence  ;  'pon  my  honor,  I  do.  I  'm 
helpless,  you  know." 

Barney,  who  liked  Jack,  felt  the  blood  mounting 


22  THE  BEVERLEYS, 

to  his  temples.  He  hardly  knew  why  he  was  angry 
either.  The  Colonel  had  implied  nothing  derogatory 
to  Eileen  exactly,  and  yet  —  Barney  was  never  quite 
clear  in  his  reasoning  —  he  had,  a  great  deal.  Jack 
had  been  at  Eileen's  feet  ever  since  he  had  met  her, 
—  not  many  weeks,  to  be  sure.  He  had  ridden  with 
her  or  after  her  every  day ;  had  walked  with  her 
in  the  Eden  gardens,  and  in  their  own  garden  in  the 
early  mornings,  when  she  was  up.  He  had  been 
fishing  for  invitations  to  dinner,  Barney  thought  in 
dignantly,  so  as  to  be  near  her ;  he  had  come  calling 
at  all  hours,  had  even  dared  to  start  and  blush  when 
ever  Eileen's  name  was  mentioned,  or  she  looked 
at  him.  Jack  was  too  honest,  Barney  had  always 
thought,  to  dissemble.  But  whether  he  was  honest 
or  not,  Eileen  could  not  afford  to  marry  him.  He 
resolved  to  keep  his  eyes  open  now.  If  his  sister 
had  been  played  with  —  and  by  an  unprincipled 
beggar,  by  Jove  !  The  blood  of  all  the  Winterfords 
boiled  within  him,  and  his  manly  brow  mantled. 

There  was  no  time  to  reply,  for  his  wife  and  Stan 
hope  now  appeared  from  the  stables,  and  Barney, 
who  had  forgotten  the  green  grass-stains,  was  now 
reminded  of  them  by  Philippa,  and  went  into  the 
house  to  interview  his  bearer  on  the  subject  of  a 
fresh  coat.  "  Your  papa 's  out  there,  looking  for 
you,"  he  said  satirically  to  Jack,  as  he  passed  through 
the  room  again.  Jack  showed  no  signs  of  stirring, 
only  smiled ;  but  at  a  word  from  Eileen,  he  went 
out. 

There  were  four  in  the  party  now ;  for  Captain 
Carbury,  another  aide  at  Government  House,  had 


THE  B EVER  LEYS.  23 

joined  the  three.     The  air  was  delicious,  out  of  the 
sun ;  but  in  the  sun  it  was  always  hot.     They  were 
standing,  when  Jack  went  out,  under  a  huge  banyan- 
tree,  near  the  gate.     The  banyan  was  old,  and  had 
thrown  half  a  hundred  shoots   into  the  ground  at 
various  points  in  its  career,  each  shoot  being  now 
firmly  rooted ;  and  some  of  them  were  as  thick  as 
the  trunk  of  a  young  maple.     At  some  epoch  the 
banyan  must  have  offered  his  hand  and  heart  to  a 
young  peepul-tree ;  for  the  peepul  had  joined  her 
lot  to  the  banyan's,  and  both  were  firmly  rooted  to 
gether  now  in  a  common  stem.     They  were  not  per 
fectly  of  one  mind,  however,  in  minor  matters ;  for 
the  banyan  shed  his  leaves  at  one  season  and  the 
peepul  hers  at  another,  and  when  the  former  was 
rejoicing  in  dark  glossy  leaves  and  red  berries,  the 
latter  had  just  put   forth  her   tender,  light  green 
shoots.     The  venerable  couple  shaded  the  lawn  for 
some  distance,  and  under  the  branches  our  party  sat 
down,  servants  having  first  spread  a  blue  and  white 
durree. 

The  Winterfords'  garden  was  the  resort  at  this 
time  of  day  or  earlier,  usually,  for  this  set  of  men. 
Philippa  usually  appeared,  and  Eileen ;  and  some 
times  they  had  tennis,  after  their  morning  rides. 
But  in  the  coldest  weather  —  this  was  it !  —  they 
did  not  always  ride  early,  nor  even  rise,  and  after 
a  ball  they  were  much  later.  This  was  a  holiday 
too. 

"  What  early  hours  we  all  keep  !  "  the  Colonel  was 
saying,  when  Jack  joined  the  party.  "  Jack,  you 
hound,  what  were  you  doing  in  a  lady's  breakfast- 


24  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

room?     Go  to  work  and  earn  something   to  keep 
your  poor  old  father  in  idleness." 

"Work  on  a  holiday  !  Unnatural  father  !  "  said 
Jack,  laughing.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  I  did  do  some 
work  this  morning.  I  finished  my  day's  labor  before 
you  had  stirred,  Dad,"  he  added,  looking  at  his  fa 
ther  with  beaming  eyes.  "You  may  now  lounge 
with  your  hands  in  your  pockets  the  rest  of  the  day. 
I  have  provided  for  you." 

"  Faith,  there  may  be  a  good  bit  of  truth  in  that 
same,"  muttered  Barney,  who  had  just  come  out,  to 
Stanhope.  He  had  not  quite  forgiven  the  Colonel 
his  taunt. 

Philippa,  poor  soul,  was  devising  a  scheme  by 
which  she  could  keep  her  husband  and  Captain 
Stanhope  apart.  They  were  sitting  a  few  steps  from 
the  rest  when  Eileen  came  out,  with  a  train  of  dogs 
fawning  upon  her.  Her  filmy  white  dress  draped 
itself  gracefully  about  her  figure ;  her  hair  gleamed 
in  the  sun.  Every  man  sprang  to  his  feet;  a 
servant  glided  to  her  with  an  umbrella.  "Well, 
well,  what  a  levee  !  "  she  said  in  her  bright  young 
voice  and  with  her  bright  young  smile,  "  and  I  out 
of  it !  I  am  sure  you  are  going  in  for  politics  or 
plots  or  some  dreadful  thing.  Can't  I  know?  No, 
on  second  thought,  don't  tell  me.  I  should  be  sure 
to  tell.  I  can't  keep  anything.  Perhaps  I  had  bet 
ter  withdraw?  "  And  Eileen  looked  up  archly  at  the 
Colonel,  who  was  gazing  broadly  at  her. 

"  Don't !  "  he  answered  solemnly.  "  There  '11  be 
'  plots '  to  murder  one  another,  if  you  do.  If  you 
tell  our  secrets,  Lady  Ellen,  you  '11  convict  yourself. 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  25 

I  came  to  find  Jack,  the  lost  heir.  When  he  is  mis 
laid,  I  usually  look  for  him  here.  He  came  to  look 
for  me,  no  doubt !  "  Jack  laughed,  and  flickered 
a  few  leaves  off  the  banyan-tree  with  his  walking- 
stick  gayly.  "  Stanhope  and  Carbury  can  find  their 
own  excuses." 

"  No  excuse  is  needed,  except  for  staying  away," 
said  Captain  Carbury.  "A  certificate  of  lunacy 
would  be  required  for  a  man  who  had  the  entree 
here,  if  he  did  not  make  use  of  it.  I  came  to  see 
the  ladies,  and  I  'm  the  only  one  who  dares  own 
it,  it  seems." 

"  Your  house  is  the  loveliest  in  Calcutta,  and  the 
jolliest,  Lady  Barney,"  said  Stanhope,  throwing  him 
self  at  Philippa's  feet,  and  ignoring  the  last  speaker. 
"  I  told  the  Viceroy  so  only  yesterday." 

"And  didn't  he  say  he  knew  it?"  laughed 
Eileen.  "  I  trust  our  efforts  were  not  thrown  away 
upon  him  on  the  last  awful  occasion  of  his  dining 
here.  We  had  about  twenty  extra  khidmutgars  in," 
she  said,  looking  at  the  Colonel,  "  and  an  additional 
cook  ;  consequently  no  decent  food.  We  spent  the 
entire  day  in  worrying  and  changing  things  about; 
and  all  for  a  man  one  would  entertain  quite  simply 
in  England.  I  don't  know  why  we  do  it.  The  house 
was  a  great  deal  nicer  as  it  was ;  and  nothing  is  so 
silly  as  unwonted  splendor." 

"  There  was  no  splendor  about  it,"  Philippa  said, 
a  little  impatiently ;  "  but  of  course,  when  one  enter 
tains  the  Viceroy,  one  must  have  more  —  more  —  " 

"  There  !  you  can't  find  a  name  for  it,  and  that 's 
why  I  hate  it,"  cried  Eileen,  —  "that  more  some- 


26  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

thing  that  you  have  to  have.  My  sovereign,  or  my 
sovereign's  representative,  shall  dine  with  me  as  I 
am  in  the  future,  or  not  at  all."  ("  He  would  pre 
fer  you  as  you  are,  I  'm  sure,"  murmured  Colonel 
Beverley,  fervently.)  "  Not  one  change  will  I  ever 
make  again." 

"What  change  did  you  make,  pray?"  laughed 
Philippa,  not  without  a  tinge  of  tartness.  "  I  ob 
served  nothing  specially  conventional  about  you." 

"  Oh,  but  there  was  !  "  answered  Eileen.  "  You 
should  have  seen  me  !  "  turning  to  Jack  and  Car- 
bury,  who  were  at  her  left.  "  I  was  almost  regal 
in  my  bearing,  and  I  wore  my  very  best  frock.  An 
unknown  khidmutgar  spilled  petits  pois  down  my 
back  too,  and  ruined  the  frock  in  a  scuffle,  and 
Barney's  fish  came  in  after  the  entrees.  I  saw  it. 
Our  own  simple  ways  are  good  enough  for  any 
viceroy,  and  I  shall  tell  him  so  the  next  time  I 
see  him." 

"  Lord  love  you  !  "  exclaimed  Colonel  Beverley, 
"  you  don't  call  an  Indian  establishment  simple, 
when  an  unpretending  bachelor  has  to  have  twenty 
servants  in  order  to  exist !  I  call  the  simplest 
household  in  Calcutta  a  mass  of  pure  extravagance 
and  waste  ! " 

"  You  're  the  last  one  to  live  without  all  that  '  ex 
travagance  and  waste,'  "  said  Jack,  laughing.  His 
tone  was  invariably  affectionate  to  his  father.  "  I 
often  wonder,  though,  when  I  see  these  black  fellows 
lying  about,  doing  nothing  most  of  the  time,  —  not 
worth  the  dhal  or  ghee  or  whatever  it  is  they  feed 
on,  —  that  we  submit  to  such  imposition.  It 's  little 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS.  27 

enough  each  one  costs ;  but  when  it  comes  to  forty 
or  fifty,  it  counts  up  enormously.  Why  doesn't 
somebody  take  a  stand  and  change  things  about 
a  bit?" 

"Oh,  because,"  Philippa  replied,  "you  couldn't 
teach  them  in  a  hundred  years  to  do  any  more  than 
they  have  always  done,  or  to  do  what  they  do  differ 
ently.  You  try  dismissing  what  seems  to  you  an  ut 
terly  ridiculously  superfluous  servant,  —  one  whom 
you  have  never  seen  do  a  single  service,  —  and  your 
household  arrangements  go  to  pieces.  The  next 
time  one  wants  one's  punkah  pulled  or  some  little 
thing  fetched,  they  are  a  man  short,  and  nobody  is  on 
hand  to  do  it.  I  know  ;  I  've  tried  so  many  times  to 
cut  down  our  staff.  Perfect  misery  was  the  result." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Barney,  languidly,  "what's  the 
use  ?  You  've  got  to  submit,  and  you  may  as  well 
do  it  gracefully  as  fret  yourself  into  heat  apoplexy. 
When  the  fellow  who  buttons  your  shoes  won't 
butter  your  toast,  let  them  arrange  it  between  them. 
For  my  part,  I  have  done  my  best  to  abolish  the 
caste-system.  I  try  hard  to  mix  my  Hindus  and 
Mohammedans  up,  but  it 's  no  go.  They  refuse  to 
sit  on  the  same  rug,  even.  Do  you  remember  the 
conflict  you  had  with  my  bearer  one  day,  Flip?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Philippa ;   "I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"What  was  it?  "  asked  Eileen.  "  I  never  heard 
of  it." 

"  Oh,  it  was  just  an  ordinary  occurrence,"  Philippa 
answered,  "  or  might  be.  I  never  happened  to 
meet  with  that  peculiar  complication  before.  My 
ayah,  who  is  a  Mehtranee,  you  know,  was  sitting  in 


28  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

the  carriage,  with  her  back  to  the  horses,  holding 
Biddy,  and  we  were  just  starting  out  for  a  drive.  It 
looked  a  little  like  a  shower,  and  I  sent  Barney's 
bearer  up  for  a  cloak  for  Biddy.  He  gave  it  a  toss 
into  the  carriage  in  a  most  disrespectful  way.  I  told 
him  to  hand  it  me  properly.  He  salaamed,  gave 
me  an  imploring  glance,  and  told  the  syce  to 
take  the  cloak  out  of  the  carriage.  The  syce's 
hands  were  just  off  the  horses'  bridles,  and  I  did 
not  wish  him  to  touch  a  white  cloak.  Besides,  it  was 
too  disobedient ;  so  I  said  to  the  bearer,  '  Lift  the 
cloak  from  the  floor  yourself,'  —  it  had  fallen  down, 
— '  and  hand  it  me.'  No.  The  ayah  then  began  to 
weep,  and  Biddy  joined  in  the  outcry.  I  was  firm 
with  the  bearer,  who  kept  on  salaaming,  and  at  last 
prostrated  himself  nearly  under  the  wheels.  The 
ayah  thereupon  got  out,  and  the  bearer  hopped  up, 
and  handed  the  cloak  in.  The  ayah's  clothes  had  been 
touching  mine,  it  seemed,  and  so  the  bearer  would 
have  defiled  himself,  if  he  had  given  me  anything, 
while  she  was  in  such  close  contact.  It  was  a 
longer  scene  than  I  have  made  it  even.  I  believe  I 
dismissed  the  bearer,  who  said  calmly  he  would 
rather  give  up  his  place  than  lose  his  caste." 

"  Poor  little  ayah  !  "  cried  Eileen.  "  Worth  a 
dozen  of  him  too  !  How  humiliated  they  must 
feel,  those  low-caste  creatures  !  " 

"  Quite  the  contrary,"  said  Philippa.  "  It  was 
the  bearer  who  looked  ashamed ;  the  ayah  begged 
me  not  to  insist,  and  was  triumphant,  as  she  flew 
out,  with  her  little  bare  brown  feet.  This  caste- 
business  does  not  prevent  their  being  the  best  of 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  29 

friends  either.     I  heard  the  two  discussing  the  affair 
with  great  good-nature,  later." 

"  We  had  a  pathetic  scene  here  one  morning," 
Eileen  said.  "  One  of  our  bearers  —  yours  again, 
was  n't  it,  Barney  ? —  appeared  suddenly  before  us,  his 
clothes  dishevelled,  his  paint  smudgy,  his  face  dis 
torted.  Of  course  he  wanted  money.  A  hen  had 
walked  in  at  the  door  of  his  hut,  and  had  eaten  out 
of  one  of  his  lootahs  or  sorais,  spread  on  the  floor, 
with  his  dinner  in  them.  Every  utensil  had  to  be 
thrown  away,  and  we  were  to  give  him  money  for  a 
new  set,  of  course." 

"  That 's  a  very  old  dodge,"  said  Lady  Barney, 
"  my  father's  servants  did  that.  And  yet,  in  spite 
of  all  these  tricks  and  bothers  of  Barney's  bearer, 
there  is  not  a  better  servant  in  all  India.  He  can 
be  trusted  with  anything ;  he  is  temperate,  clean, 
patient,  and  hard-working,  for  a  native." 

The  bearer's  ears  must  have  burned,  if  he  un 
derstood  English ;  for  he  was  among  the  party 
all  this  time,  handing  lights,  bringing  footstools, 
looking  after  everybody's  needs.  His  face  betrayed 
nothing  —  not  a  ray  of  intelligence,  even  —  at  compli 
ment  or  its  reverse.  Even  an  English  servant,  of 
the  highest  possible  perfection,  could  hardly  have 
preserved  a  more  stoical  composure.  And  yet,  if 
Barney  had  spoken  seriously  of  dismissing  him, 
Kali  Dass  would  have  come  to  his  master  at  his  first 
opportunity,  and  implored  patience  and  another 
trial.  Who  can  fathom  the  ways  of  these  dusky 
retainers  ? 

"All  that  nonsense  about  caste  is  tiresome  and 


30  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

stupid,"  said  Stanhope ;  "  and  yet,  if  caste  were 
abolished  we  should  not  have  the  service  we  have 
now.  I  took  a  Christian  bearer  once,  to  please 
my  mother,  who  goes  in  for  missionary  very  strong 
["  What  a  field  opened  before  her  in  her  own  fam 
ily  !  "  thought  Philippa]  ;  and  the  result  was  — 
wretchedness.  That  man  with  caste  had  laid  off 
cleanliness  and  abstemiousness,  drank  my  wine, 
smoked  my  cheroots,  wore  creaking  boots,  answered 
me  disrespectfully  in  horrible  English,  —  did  every 
thing  that  was  excruciating,  in  short,  —  and  I  was 
only  too  happy  to  exchange  hin\  for  one  of  the  old 
sort.  Orthodox  Hindus  make  the  only  bearable 
bearers." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  call  the  creature  you 
described  a  Christian,"  said  Eileen,  rather  warmly. 
"  He  was  simply  de-Hinduized,  and  had  nothing 
in  the  place  of  his  old  creed." 

"  It  's  astonishing,"  broke  in  Philippa,  who  could 
not  endure  a  religious  discussion,  and  who  thought 
she  saw  one  coming,  "  how  little  we  put  up  with 
from  servants  here.  One  fault,  and  off  they  go." 

"  That  is  the  law  of  supply  and  demand,"  said 
Carbury.     "  Perfection  is  a  commodity ;  and  if  one   ; 
can  get  it  for  the  same  price  one  pays  for  stupidity,  . 
of  course  stupidity  goes." 

"  I  wish,"  sighed  Eileen  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  she 
were  ashamed  of  it,  "  that  we  felt  our  responsibili 
ties  more  in  regard  to  these  races.  But  people 
yawn  in  one's  face  if  one  even  mentions  these 
great  daily  problems.  I  must  confess  they  worry 
me."  Eileen  was  blushing  a  little ;  she  seldom 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  31 

spoke  seriously,  and  nobody  in  this  party  had  ever 
heard  her  do  so  before. 

"Your  concern  about  the  Hindus  reminds  me 
of  Philippa's  alarms  about  fires  and  burglars,  when 
we  are  at  home,"  laughed  Barney.  "  Every  three 
months  or  so,  she  has  a  terrible  fright ;  wakes  me 
up,  and  says,  '  Barney,  I  cannot  sleep  a  wink ;  I 
hear  such  strange  noises,  and  I  'm  sure  I  smell 
smoke.  Do  get  up  and  see  ! '  Before  I  can  stir, 
she  is  fast  asleep  again,  and  I  never  hear  anything 
more  about  it  until  the  next  quarterly  scare." 

"  Now,  Barney,"  pouted  Eileen,  flippant  again,  "I 
am  always  devising  schemes  for  the  elevation  of 
these  people.  I  don't  get  much  encouragement,  it 
is  safe  to  say,  from  you  !  " 

"What  have  you  done  so  far?"  asked  Philippa, 
a  little  satirically. 

f  "  Nothing  at  all,"  answered  Eileen,  wearily.  "  I 
/  have  talked  to  my  ayah ;  and  her  state,  I  find,  is  so 
t  much  more  hopeful  than  mine  that  I  can't  do  any 
thing  for  her.  She  goes  to  the  Maidan  once  a  year, 
and  hears  preaching  in  a  foreign  tongue,  not  a  word 
of  which  does  she  understand.  That  is  all  the  re 
ligious  instruction  she  ever  has ;  and  yet,  when  I 
told  her  one  day  in  the  hot  weather  to  start  up  the 
punkah-rope  in  my  dressing-room,  she  folded  both 
hands  behind  her,  and  looked  at  me  supplicatingly. 
'  I  cannot  touch  it,  memsahib.'  '  Who  will  know  ?  ' 
I  said  impatiently.  (The  very  idea  of  that  stu 
pid  punkah-wallah  downstairs  calling  himself  her 
superior,  made  me  furious  !)  '  God  will  know,' 
she  replied  reverently.  I  felt  abashed  in  the  pres- 


32  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

ence  of  such  simple  goodness.  And  then  I  need  so 
many  improvements  myself  that  I  feel  rather  modest 
about  attempting  to  improve  those  who  seem  to 
need  it  less.  A  pagan  who  has  had  every  advantage 
•VUY^-W  fc  without  excuse." 

"  I  deny  that  you  are  a  pagan,  or  that  you  need 
improvement,"  broke  in  Colonel  Beverley.  (Jack 
could  not  for  the  world  have  made  a  pretty  speech 
then ;  that  was  one  difference  between  them.) 
4  "  Oh,  I  am,  and  I  do,"  laughed  Eileen,  shaking 
off  her  seriousness  again.  "  Not  that  I  expect  you 
to  believe  me  ;  if  I  did,  I  should  not  say  it." 

"  Eileen  is  right,"  said  Philippa,  gently,  giving  the 
girl  a  tenderer  glance  than  she  had  done  for  months, 
"  about  the  conscientiousness  of  some  of  the  lowest 
.^J^castes.  But  the  question  of  awakening  them  to  new 
responsibilities  is  outside  of  all  that.  Of  course  it  is 
our  duty  to  show  them  the  right  way,  and  we  don't 
do  it.  We  don't  lead  the  lives  we  should,  to  begin 
with." 

"  It  would  be  a  case  of  the  blind  who  won't  see 
leading  the  blind  who  can't,  would  n't  it  ?  "  laughed 
Eileen.  "We  should  have  to  begin  at  the  begin 
ning,  and  unlearn  and  forget  first,  then  be  taught 
all  over  again.  Right  is  wrong,  and  wrong  right  to 
me,  I  am  so  perverted." 

It  was  rather  a  singular  group,  —  Colonel  Beverley 
and  Captains  Stanhope  and  Carbury  contented  to 
sit  quietly  by  and  listen  to  a  conversation,  the  sub 
ject  of  which  ordinarily  interested  them  so  little. 
When  Eileen  spoke,  every  man  listened.  It  had  done 
much  towards  that  perversion  of  which  she  had  spoken. 


THE  B EVER  LEYS.  33 

"  I  have  been  out  here  only  six  months,  to  be  sure," 
said  Captain  Stanhope  ;  "  but  this  is  the  first  time,  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honor,  I  have  ever  heard  native 
servants  mentioned,  —  that  is  to  say,  in  society.  I 
wrote  my  mother  last  week  that  not  a  soul  ever  thought 
of  natives,  or  looked  at  them.  I  am  glad  to  find  that 
somebody  does  occasionally  bestow  a  thought  on  the 
poor  brutes." 

"I'm  not  glad,  then,"  said  Barney,  stifling  a  yawn, 
"  if  that  somebody  is  in  my  family.  Their  religion 
is  good  enough  for  them,  and  suits  them  to  a  turn ; 
and  I  don't  want  to  bother,  for  one,  with  reconstruct 
ing  them.  For  pity's  sake,  let 's  change  the  subject. 
One  would  think  this  was  a  missionary  meeting  !  " 

Eileen  suddenly  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  Dear  me, 
Philippa,"  she  said,  "weren't  we  to  go  somewhere 
this  morning  ?  I  am  such  a  slave  to  my  engagement- 
book  I  don't  try  to  remember ;  but  were  n't  we  to 
ameliorate  somebody's  condition?" 

"  And  '  pessimate  '  the  condition  of  four  men  cor 
respondingly  ?"  said  the  Colonel.  "  How  lovely  and 
lazy  it  is  here  !  The  only  drawback  to  enjoying  the 
beauties  of  Nature  in  England  is  that  you  feel  so  en 
ergetic  !  Here  there  is  a  delicious  lethargy  which 
completes  one's  idea  of  perfect  enjoyment.  May  I 
ride  with  you  this  evening?"  he  asked  suddenly,  as 
Eileen  was  giving  him  her  hand. 

Jack  was  disappointed  ;  he  had  looked  forward  to 
a  long  interview  with  Eileen,  which  should  be  deci 
sive  ;  but  his  father's  interest  in  her  and  admiration 
for  her  pleased  him,  nevertheless.  It  was  a  tribute 
to  himself,  he  felt ;  and  after  all,  he  was  sure  of  her. 
3 


34 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS. 


He  managed,  by  following  her  up  the  steps,  to  say 
one  word.  "There  are  ways,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
"  of  doing  something  for  our  servants.  I  will  help 
you  if  I  can.  The  missionaries  know.  Why  should 
we  not  go  to  them  to  find  out  how  to  begin?  " 

Eileen  gave  his  hand  a  grateful  clasp.  "  I  may 
not  be  in  the  mood  long,"  she  answered  hurriedly. 
"  Don't  think  so  well  of  me  !  " 

"  Well  of  her  !  "  Jack's  heart  was  bounding,  as 
he  drove  away.  Think  well  of  her  !  He  was  filled 
to  the  brim  with  joy  and  bliss  of  her  !  The  quick 
glimpse  she  had  given  that  morning  of  a  desire  to 
live  a  higher  life  than  the  frivolous,  butterfly  exist 
ence  they  were  all  leading  here,  gave  him  a  throb  of 
pleasure.  He  felt  it  so  often  himself;  and  stronger 
than  ever,  as  he  drove  over  the  Maidan,  was  his  resolve 
to  give  up  his  present  occupation,  —  his  flunkey  work, 
as  he  contemptuously  called  it,  —  and  if  his  special 
appointment  was  not  forthcoming,  to  rejoin  his  regi 
ment,  and  be  at  least  a  good  soldier.  "  I  must  be 
a  man,  not  a  monkey  any  more,"  he  said  to  himself,  — 
"  for  her  sake  first  and  then  for  my  own."  And  Jack, 
who  was  as  full  of  trust  as  of  love,  was  flushed  with 
the  happiness  of  eager  anticipation.  Would  we  could 
all  be  content  with  our  unrealized  hopes  !.  They  are 
the  only  happiness  most  of  us  ever  know. 

Poor  Philippa,  her  worn  face  wreathed  in  tired 
smiles,  was  still  conversing  with  Stanhope.  It  was 
a  bootless  task,  however ;  she  had  no  excuse  for 
staying  out  forever. 

"Barney,"  she  said  at  last,  "will  you  come  and 
help  me  write  that  letter  ?  I  must  get  off  an  impor- 


THE  B EVER  LEYS. 


35 


tant  English  document,"  she  said,  smiling,  and  ex 
tending  a  hand  by  way  of  farewell ;  "  and  Barney 
must  do  his  share." 

Barney  looked  at  his  watch.  "  By  Jove  !  "  he  ex 
claimed.  "  It 's  after  eleven,  and  I  promised  to  meet 
Thorpe  and  Harcourt  at  half-past  ten  !  When  I  come 
come  back,  Flip.  There  's  plenty  of  time ;  the  mail 
does  n't  close  until  night,  you  know."  And  the 
scamp  called  to  his  groom,  who  was  sitting  with  his 
head  on  his  knees  beside  Barney's  trap.  Barney 
hopped  in,  and  took  the  reins.  "Shall  I  drop 
you  anywhere,  Bev,  Stanhope,  Carbury,  anybody?" 
he  asked.  No;  they  all  had  their  own  convey 
ances  or  horses  waiting.  But  Captain  Stanhope, 
who  was  riding,  joined  him  outside  the  gate,  and 
trotted  beside  him. 

Philippa's  morning's  work  had  been  hard  and 
unavailing.  -A  gnat  may  sting  an  elephant,  but  it 
can  hardly  retard  that  animal's  progress  by  standing 
in  its  way. 


CHAPTER   III. 

"DVERYBODY  who  knew  Barney  Winterford —  and 
•*-'  everybody  did  know  him  —  knew  that  he  had 
sold  his  fast  horse,  Polly,  for  fourteen  hundred  rupees. 
It  was  a  public  transaction,  and  Philippa  must  have 
been  dreaming  to  suppose  that  the  thing  was  a  se 
cret.  Stanhope  not  only  knew  it  as  soon  as  Barney 
did  himself,  but  it  was  through  him  that  the  sale  was 
effected  !  Barney,  out  of  gratitude,  had  promised  to 
lend  the  Captain  part ;  and  a  good  deal  more  he 
had  lost  at  cards  the  night  before,  at  the  Friths' 
ball.  To  tell  the  truth,  Barney  was  a  little  uneasy ; 
he  was  decidedly  in  difficulties.  Of  course,  it  was 
only  a  question  of  time  how  soon  he  could  squirm 
out,  as  he  had  done  scores  of  times  before ;  but  he 
was  in  for  a  pretty  uncomfortable  period  until  he 
did  get  out. 

Barney,  usually  so  reckless  and  easy-going,  was  a 
little  sobered  by  his  wife's  serious  air.  She  had 
seemed  really  determined,  and  he  felt  that  when  he 
went  home  to  lunch — no,  he  would  n't  go  home  to 
lunch,  that  was  too  soon  —  but  when  he  went  home 
to  dinner,  she  would  have  a  draft  of  a  letter  to  her 
father  made  out,  stating  that  enclosed  he  would  find 
one  hundred  pounds.  Barney  groaned. 


THE  B EVER  LEYS.  37 

Stanhope  was  at  his  side  all  this  time.  "  Beverley 
wants  us  to  lunch  with  him  at  the  club,"  he  said. 
"  The  new  chef,  you  know,  begins  his  regime  to-day, 
and  they  say  he 's  a  wonder." 

Barney  cheered  up  immediately.  Not  that  he 
cared  for  his  lunch  eon,  — his  own  cook  was  a  marvel 
too ;  it  was  something  to  look  forward  to,  something 
to  do.  The  conclusion  was  foregone,  and  so  was 
the  money.  Barney  never  could  resist  anybody  or 
anything,  but  his  duty. 

He  appeared  at  home  just  before  his  wife  started 
for  her  drive  before  dinner ;  bankrupt  again,  but  as 
easy  and  gay  as  ever. 

Philippa  had  spent  a  very  unhappy  day.  Pride 
would  not  allow  her  to  write  a  complaining  letter  to 
her  father ;  she  had  never  done  that  yet,  and  she 
hoped,  even  knowing  her  husband  so  well,  that  he 
would  keep  his  word  given  to  her  in  the  morning. 
But  as  soon  as  she  saw  him,  her  heart  failed.  He 
looked  conscious,  and  his  gayety  was  a  trifle  over 
done. 

"  Have  you  done  what  you  promised,  Barney?  "  she 
asked  anxiously,  as  they  met  on  the  upper  landing. 

Barney  looked  surprised.  "  Oh,  you  mean  about 
sending  the  money  to  England?  Flip,  my  love, 
I  'm  awfully  sorry,  truly  I  am,  but  I  can't  do  it. 
I  was  in  debt  out  here,  and  you  don't  know  how 
uncomfortable  it  made  me."  Philippa's  lip  curled. 
He  had  never  been  out  of  debt,  except  when  her 
father  had  taken  him  out,  since  they  had  been  married. 
"  So  I  thought  it  better  to  pay  off  something  here 
first." 


38  THE  B EVER  LEYS. 

Philippa  turned  a  little  giddy,  but  she  steadied 
herself  against  the  stair-rail.  She  had  the  letter  in 
her  desk,  ready  for  the  remittance.  "  Have  you 
paid  all  we  owe  in  Calcutta,  Barney?"  she  asked, 
with  a  slight  tremor  of  the  lip,  but  looking  him  full 
in  the  face. 

"  Faith,  no  !  "  he  laughed ;  "  it  would  take  more 
than  I  shall  get  in  some  time  to  do  that.  I  have 
just  quieted  down  a  few  of  my  creditors." 

Philippa  led  the  way  into  the  drawing-room. 
Barney  could  not  tell  why  he  followed  her,  but  he 
went  like  a  lamb.  Her  desk  was  between  two  long 
windows,  and  the  light  shone  full  upon  her  white 
face,  worn  and  set.  Barney  had  never  seen  Philippa 
in  quite  this  mood.  He  might  have  battled  with 
hysterics  or  heroics ;  this  style  he  could  not  under 
stand.  "  Barney,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  distinct  tone, 
"  I  have  a  drawer  filled  with  bills  here ;  the  trades 
men  annoy  me  constantly  about  them.  Will  you 
give  me  a  list  of  those  you  have  paid  ?  One  hun 
dred  pounds  is  a  thousand  rupees,  and  fourteen 
hundred  rupees  more  makes  twenty-four  hundred 
rupees.  All  the  bills  I  have  here  amount  to  scarcely 
that.  Have  you  paid  these?" 

Barney  had  been  shifting  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  and  thrumming  impatiently  on  the  window- 
pane.  He  thrust  aside  the  package  of  papers  which 
Philippa  held  up,  —  gently,  however.  He  made  an 
attempt  to  laugh,  and  he  took  his  wife's  hand,  which 
was  cold.  He  really  pitied  her  for  the  moment. 
She  let  him  hold  the  hand,  until  he  had  answered 
her. 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


39 


"  My  darlin',''  said  he,  patting  the  hand,  "  you 
know  so  little  of  business  !  These  tradesmen's  bills 
are  a  small  part  of  what  I  owe.  The  debts  I  have 
paid  are  my  own  private  ones,  —  debts  of  honor.  I 
have  lost  money  at  cards;  I  have  had  to  lend 
money ;  then  personal  loans  have  been  made  me ; 
I  have  borrowed,  in  short,  from  my  friends." 

"  Will  you  oblige  me  with  the  names  of  those 
friends?"  asked  Philippa,  standing  now,  although 
the  room  swam  before  her  eyes. 

"  Why,  how  you  go  on,  Flip  !  "  he  said  contemptu 
ously,  by  way  of  answer.  "  You  are  not  like  your 
self.  Why  should  you  be  bothered  with  these  things  ? 
I  have  often  and  often  lost  money,  as  you  know ; 
often  lent  it,  and  oftener  borrowed  it.  These  are 
my  own  private  affairs.  I  can't  tell  you  about  them. 
But  I  swear  to  you,  Philippa  —  "  His  wife  stopped 
him  with  a  violent  gesture.  She  swept  like  a  queen 
to  the  stairway,  down  to  her  carriage,  and  into  it. 
Barney  rushed  out  after  her,  and  put  her  in.  "  If 
you  will  wait  a  second  for  my  hat,  I  '11  drive  with 
you,"  he  said. 

"Chello  !  (Go  on!)"  to  the  coachman,  was  her 
only  reply. 

That  impressive  Mohammedan,  in  his  dark- 
green  Mahratta  turban,  made  of  twist  after  twist  of 
cloth,  a  twisted  band  of  the  green  around  his  waist, 
and  his  long  white  coat,  cracked  his  whip  ;  and  the 
grooms  running  ahead  swiftly  until  the  lodge-gate 
was  passed,  then  springing  up  behind,  the  carriage 
was  lost  in  a  minute  to  Barney's  view.  He  stood 
on  the  step  slightly  dazed.  "  Dignity  is  her  new 


40  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

dodge,  eh  ?  She  won't  speak  to  me  now  for  a  week. 
I  don't  care.  Stanhope  is  a  good  fellow,  and  will 
pay  me  when  he  can.  I  could  n't  see  him  in  dis 
tress.  How  Philippa  did  glare  at  me  !  I  wish  I 
had  gone  with  her.  We  should  have  had  it  out,  at 
all  events,  and  she  could  n't  have  said  much  on  the 
course,  with  everybody  looking  on.  Dear  old  Flip, 
how  pretty  she  was,  and  what  sweet  coquettish  ways 
she  had  !  How  women  do  age  and  change  !  This 
one  won't,"  he  added,  as  he  heard  his  sister's  step 
on  the  stair,  and  turned  to  look. 

Eileen  in  her  habit  was  Eileen  at  home.  The 
grace  which  marked  all  her  movements  was  consum 
mated  when  she  was  dressed  for  her  favorite  exer 
cise.  "  If  Colonel  Beverley  is  not  on  time,"  she  said 
with  a  pout,  "  I  shall  not  ride  with  him.  I  never 
waited  a  minute  yet  for  a  man.  And  there  's  noth 
ing  to  detain  one  in  Calcutta.  Go  and  get  ready, 
Barney,  to  ride  with  me,  and  be  quick  ! " 

But  the  clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard  at  that  moment, 
and  the  lady  was  appeased.  Barney  saw  them  off,  and 
his  face  was  dark.  He  had  lunched  with  the  Colonel, 
entirely  forgetting  his  momentary  wrath  of  the 
morning.  But  as  he  saw  them  ride  out  together, 
he  wished  Eileen  could  make  up  her  mind  at  once 
to  marry  Mr.  Warwick  and  end  all  this  nonsense. 
Things  were  getting  horribly  mixed  up,  he  said  to 
himself  despondently,  as  he  went  to  play  tennis. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

'HPHERE  is  one  fashionable  drive  in  Calcutta,  the 
•*•  Strand.  It  lies  along  the  river-bank  for  two  or 
three  miles,  a  double  line  of  beautiful  stately  ships 
almost  within  touch.  The  road  is  exquisitely  kept, 
like  all  the  streets  of  Calcutta,  watered  by  bhistis 
with  goat-skins  perpetually,  and  perfectly  hardened 
and  levelled.  In  the  cold  weather,  between  the 
hours  of  four  or  five  and  seven,  this  course  is 
thronged  with  vehicles  of  every  description,  —  from 
the  Viceroy's  grand  open  carriage,  with  its  smart 
adornments,  its  postilions,  outriders,  and  body 
guard  of  Lancers,  down  to  the  modest  or  immod 
est  (for  its  unpretending  driver  is  almost  wholly 
innocent  of  clothes)  ticca  ghari,  the  Calcutta  cab, 
or  still  lower,  to  the  unassuming  palanquin  with  its 
plebeian  inmate.  At  the  height  of  the  cold  weath 
er  —  that  is  to  say,  in  December  —  the  drive  is 
thronged ;  and  the  Row,  or  riding-course,  beside 
it  is  alive  with  equestrians.  After  driving  up  and 
down  the  Strand,  or  the  crowded  part  of  it,  a  few 
times,  one  draws  up  at  the  gate  of  the  Eden  Gar 
dens,  where  the  band  plays  every  evening.  Philip- 
pa's  carriage  was  always  surrounded ;  for  although 
everybody  knew  Barney  Winterford,  and  most  persons 


42  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

rated  him  at  his  true  lack  of  value,  his  wife  was 
always  much  sought  after.  She  entertained  inces 
santly,  and  one  met  the  best  people  in  her  drawing- 
room  and  at  her  dinners.  In  India  those  two 
items  are  the  essentials  of  success.  Even  social 
rank  sinks  before  a  well  ordered  kitchen  and  a  well 
chosen  list  of  guests.  As  for  the  gulf  of  indebt 
edness  hi  the  bottom  of  which  the  Winterfords 
wallowed,  that  was  a  social  abyss  too,  and  they 
found  plenty  of  good  company  there.  How  far 
the  tradesmen  themselves  are  responsible  for  this 
state  of  affairs,  it  is  perhaps  unsafe  or  unfair  to 
state.  Certain  it  is  that  the  redress  which  is  in 
their  hands  is  one  of  which  they  seldom  take  ad 
vantage.  Men  in  both  the  army  and  civil  service 
are  encouraged  to  run  in  debt,  and  discouraged 
actually  from  its  avoidance.  The  sons  of  peers,  as 
the  youngest  of  these  men  are  apt  to  be,  are  known, 
or  at  any  rate  supposed,  to  have  coffers  somewhere 
in  prospective ;  and  shadowy  as  these  coffers  may 
be,  and  dissoluble  into  thin  vapor  as  they  usually 
are,  tradesmen  are,  as  a  rule,  willing  to  place  de 
pendence  upon  those  unreliable  securities.  Their 
customers  are  fashionable,  at  all  events,  and  their 
shops  are  patronized  by  paying  people — for  there 
are  a  great  many  such  —  on  that  account.  The 
Winterfords  were  highly  connected  on  every  side, 
and  their  patronage  was  in  itself  lucrative. 

But  a  great  change  was  working  in  Lady  Barney. 
Her  veins  were  throbbing,  her  heart  was  burning 
with  indignation  and  impotence.  She  suffered  Ab 
dul  to  drive  her  up  and  down  the  Course,  because 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS.  43 

it  was  the  custom,  and  she  never  in  her  maddest 
moments  had  done  anything  unusual.  She  bowed 
smilingly  to  everybody ;  but  when  Abdul  drew  up, 
according  to  custom  and  even  in  response  to  her 
order,  at  the  gate  of  the  gay  Gardens,  and  she  saw 
Captain  Stanhope  dismounting  from  his  horse,  and 
knew  in  a  moment  that  he  would  be  at  her  side,  she 
felt  that  she  could  not  see  him. 

"  Drive  on,  Abdul,  to  the  Red  Road  !  " 
The  Red  Road,  so  named  from  the  color  of  its 
soil,  is  a  more  retired  drive  across  the  Maidan, 
or  big  grassy  field,  called  the  Lungs  of  Calcutta. 
Across  that  she  drove  at  last,  through  Chowringhee 
and  Ballygunge  and  Alipore,  and  back  through 
Alipore  and  Ballygunge  and  Chowringhee,  just  try 
ing  to  collect  herself  sufficiently  to  think.  Some 
thing,  she  knew,  had  to  be  done.  What  should 
that  something  be? 

Poor,  poor  Philippa !  She  had  had  for  years  a 
feeling  of  shame  whenever  she  complained  even  to 
herself  of  Barney's  recklessness,  his  utter  disregard 
of  truth,  his  lack  of  moral  responsibility.  For  it 
had  been  all  her  own  doing;  for  every  moment 
of  unhappiness  she  had  Philippa  Winterford  and 
nobody  else  to  blame.  She  had  broken  her  fa 
ther's  heart,  in  marrying  exactly  counter  to  his 
wishes.  She  had  insisted  upon  joining  her  lot  to 
that  of  a  jolly,  fascinating,  careless,  young  ne'er- 
do-weel  of  an  Irishman.  What  mattered  it  that  he 
held  a  title  by  courtesy?  Scant  courtesy  it  had 
brought  him  in  the  way  of  favors  from  government ; 
and  the  fourth  son  of  a  rat-hunting,  steeple-chasing 


44  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

peer  of  Ireland,  is  not  considered  high  game  for  the 
daughter  of  an  English  earl,  equally  impecunious 
though  that  nobleman  be.  It  was  a  bad  match ; 
and  Barney  had  borne  out  to  the  letter  his  irate 
old  father-in-law's  auguries.  "  Civil  servant,  indeed, 
and  bound  to  get  on,  is  he  ? "  he  said  almost 
fiercely  to  his  pleading  daughter.  "  Old  Munger- 
ford  has  never  been  out  of  debt  yet,  nor  one  of 
his  sons.  They  have  broken  every  bone  in  their 
disreputable  bodies,  racing ;  and  there  's  not  a  wo 
man  in  the  family  who  has  ever  had  a  guinea  to 
spend."  And  the  Earl  paced  the  floor  in  absolute 
anguish.  But  the  Lady  Philippa,  loving  her  fa 
ther  desperately  too,  thought  she  loved  Barney 
more ;  and  pretty,  piquant,  and  wilful,  she  made 
her  father  consent  to  the  marriage  his  soul  loathed. 
Her  mother  was  dead. 

Oh,  that  dear  father  !  How  more  than  noble  and 
heroic  he  had  been  !  How  he  had  gathered  the 
little  flock  of  grandchildren,  one  after  another,  to 
himself !  How  stern  he  had  been  with  himself,  as 
well  as  with  Philippa,  when  longing  wildly  to  keep 
her,  and  to  shield  her  from  her  wretched  husband, 
he  had  always  counselled  her  to  go  back  to  Calcutta 
with  Barney.  And  even  now  that  he  had  written 
her  Ida's  complaint,  it  was  only  for  her  honor's 
sake,  and  that  of  her  children,  that  he  wished  their 
father  to  do  something,  no  matter  how  little,  for 
them.  And  what  had  Barney  done?  Yes,  what  had 
he  done?  Spent  every  penny  he  could  lay  his 
hands  on,  —  betting,  cards,  racing,  extravagances  of 
all  sorts.  He  had  utterly  failed  as  a  man.  Nobody 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  45 

looked  up  to  him  ;  nobody  respected  him ;  nobody 
loved  him,  but  the  children  and  Eileen  and  —  her 
self;  for  Philippa  did  love  him, — why,  she  could 
not  say. 

Then  he  never  missed,  or  seemed  to  miss,  their 
children.  If  Barney  Winterford  had  once  sat  down, 
and  burying  his  face  in  his  hands,  bemoaned  the 
separation  from  his  dear  ones  and  hers,  it  would 
have  covered  a  multitude  of  escapades  in  Philippa's 
eyes.  But  he  hardly  mentioned  them  much ;  and 
he  appeared  to  take  it  for  granted  that  other  people 
would  look  after  them  and  he  had  nothing  to  do  but 
enjoy  himself.  "  What  good  will  my  not  enjoying 
myself  do  them?"  he  would  ask,  his  blue  eyes 
beaming  with  childlike  wonder.  "  I  '11  be  the  bet 
ter  father  when  I  get  to  them,  for  keeping  myself 
young,  and  not  moping."  So  Barney  grew  younger, 
and  Philippa  older,  every  day.  And  the  money 
grew  less.  Economy  is  unknown  in  India,  and 
impossible ;  but  it  was  not  even  economy  Philippa 
had  urged,  only  that  he  should  use  his  salary 
in  contributing  something  to  his  own  family  at 
home. 

But  this  was  not  all  Philippa  was  reviewing  ;  here 
was  Eileen,  indulging  in  all  sorts  of  whims,  at  their  ex 
pense,  —  new  Arabs  to  ride,  new  habits  to  ride  them 
in,  new  driving-horses,  carts,  boxes  of  dresses  out 
from  Paris,  and,  most  expensive  of  all,  a  disastrous 
order  of  flirtation  with  the  wrong  sort  of  men. 

Then,  last  and  worst,  Barney  had  now  deliberately 
lied  to  her,  in  words.  It  was  not  the  first  time  he 
had  deceived  her,  but  it  was  the  first  time  that  she 


46  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

knew  of  his  actually  uttering  a  falsehood.  Barney 
would  have  called  it  a  good  record ;  but  to  Philippa 
a  direct  lie  was  equal  to  ten  subterfuges.  It  is  so 
with  many  persons. 

The  alternative  of  leaving  Barney,  and  going  back 
to  her  father  and  their  children  in  England,  had,  of 
course,  often  occurred  to  Philippa.  It  came  to  her 
in  the  form  of  a  horrible  temptation  sometimes,  but 
Philippa  had  always  thrust  it  from  her.  Many  wives 
whose  husbands  were  in  India  lived  apart  from  them  ; 
her  children  needed  her  every  instant ;  their  lives 
and  characters  were  shaping  themselves  without  a 
mother's  guidance ;  their  small  aches  and  pains 
were  suffered  without  a  mother's  soothing  care.  But 
Philippa  knew  that  many  wives  could  leave  their 
husbands  safely,  trusting  to  those  husbands  to  work 
their  best,  love  and  anxiety  acting  as  spurs  of  the 
sharpest  sort.  She  knew  that  leaving  Barney  in 
India  would  be  the  end  of  him.  If  she  left  him  in 
anger,  he  would  go  to  the  dogs  at  once ;  if  she  left 
him  simply  upon  the  pretext  that  he  would  be  less 
hampered  without  a  household  and  would  be  able 
to  come  all  the  sooner  to  his  family,  he  would  never 
make  an  effort.  He  would  promise,  and  perhaps  go 
so  far  as  to  contemplate  trying,  but  beyond  an  oc 
casional  visit,  his  family  would  never  see  him.  Un 
less,  indeed,  he  should  be  dismissed  from  the  service 
for  some  misdemeanor,  and  come  and  quarter  him 
self  penniless  upon  the  old  Earl.  He  was  quite 
capable  of  that.  Whichever  way  she  looked,  there 
was  nothing,  —  or  at  best,  a  high,  black,  blank  wall. 
She  longed  to  sail  for  England  the  next  day.  But 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  47 

how  about  the  girl,  Eileen,  who  was  about  as  fit  to 
look  after  herself  as  the  Winterford  baby?  Well, 
Eileen  was  married,  or  had  been,  and  should  be  able 
to  take  care  of  herself.  A  little  discipline  might  be 
good  for  her.  Philippa,  you  see,  was  hardening  her 
heart  very  fast. 

And  so  Philippa  drove  and  drove,  but  came  to  no 
conclusion.  She  never  drove  so  far  nor  so  long.  At 
last  she  found  herself  close  beside  the  Nullah,  or 
canal,  shaded  by  palm  and  tamarind.  Native  boats 
were  drawn  up  on  the  bank  or  glided  lazily  down  the 
stream.  It  was  dark  now ;  and  an  old,  old  woman 
came  tottering  out  from  one  of  the  thatched  huts, 
bringing  a  little  light,  which  she  set  upon  the  water. 
The  tiny  lamp  bobbed  and  careened,  righted  itself, 
then  floated  steadily  on  for  some  seconds,  when  it 
suddenly  came  in  contact  with  a  stick.  It  tipped 
and  was  nearly  extinguished ;  then  the  poor  old 
crone,  who  was  hobbling  after  with  eager  eyes, 
started  and  uttered  a  cry.  Philippa  sat  quite  breath 
less,  watching.  It  was  steady  again  and  burning 
well,  with  a  clear  flame.  A  heavier  current  ran 
against  it,  overwhelmed  it,  and  out  it  went  in  an  in 
stant,  without  warning.  A  shriek  now  rent  the  air ; 
for  the  old  woman  had  offended  the  gods,  and  this 
was  the  test  by  which  she  could  see  whether  or  not 
she  was  forgiven.  If  the  powers  had  smiled  upon 
her,  the  light  would  have  burned  until  the  oil  was 
spent ;  they  were  unpropitious,  so  it  was  put  out  and 
she  with  it  into  utter  darkness.  Her  anguished  cry 
lingered  in  Philippa's  ears,  as  she  drove  on  and  left 
her  crouching  on  the  earth.  Nothing  Philippa  could 


48  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

have  done  or  said  would  have  comforted  her ;  and 
in  truth,  Philippa  was  in  sore  need  of  comfort  her 
self.  She  came  to  a  worse  place  next,  —  the  burning 
Ghaut,  where  well  connected  Hindus  are  cremated. 
The  flames  darted  high,  and  the  smell  of  roasting 
human  flesh  was  in  the  air ;  the  naked  figures  were 
distinct  against  the  blaze,  as  they  danced  and  jumped 
about  the  pile,  while  they  heaped  on  the  fagots. 
Philippa  turned  her  face  away,  sickened  and  dis 
gusted.  The  drive  had  done  her  no  good.  There 
was  no  help  anywhere. 

She  suddenly  recollected  that  they  had  guests  to 
come,  and  she  should  not  be  ready  for  them,  —  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  had  committed  a  breach 
of  good  breeding.  The  only  thing  she  could  deter 
mine  upon  was  to  have  a  "  good  long  talk  "  with 
Eileen,  in  the  course  of  which  she  would  deliver 
some  startling  home-thrusts.  It  was  thus  the  wo 
man  in  her  found  relief.  As  for  Barney,  there  was 
nothing  she  could  do  to  him ;  yes,  she  could  pre 
serve  a  freezing  silence,  when  they  were  alone,  which 
would  chafe  him  to  frenzy,  for  Barney  was  an  inces 
sant  chatterer.  And  then  she  could  refuse  abso 
lutely  to  entertain,  on  the  score  of  extreme  poverty. 
No  longer  would  she  be  a  party  to  dishonor;  for 
the  way  they  went  on  was  simply,  to  use  plain  Eng 
lish,  thieving.  She  herself  would  lead  a  life  of  strict 
retirement  after  to-night,  retrenching  where  she 
could,  and  denying  herself  as  many  luxuries  as 
possible,  without  interfering  with  Barney's  self- 
indulgence.  After  all  her  excitement  and  despera 
tion,  however,  she  ordered  the  horses'  heads  turned 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS. 


49 


homeward,  with  the  conviction  that  she  was  helpless 
and  might  as  well  abandon  herself  to  a  ruthless  fate. 
She  could  make  things  a  little  unpleasant  for  Barney ; 
but  he  had  his  Clubs,  and  would  live  at  them  mostly, 
if  she  bored  him. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ride  with  Colonel  Beverley  had  been 
—•*  one  long  triumphal  trot,  so  to  speak.  She 
had  ridden  with  him  before,  and  was  always  the 
centre  of  admiration,  wherever  she  went,  in  Calcutta, 
so  graceful  and  so  indifferent  was  she.  But  this 
had  been  a  day  when  everything  outward  combined 
to  make  the  Lady  Eileen  feel  herself  a  power.  The 
very  air  caressed  her ;  it  was  the  flower  of  the  In 
dian  cold  weather.  A  little,  a  very  little,  bracing 
quality  in  the  atmosphere ;  the  last  hour  of  a  bril 
liant  glorifying  sun ;  a  handsome,  distinguished 
escort,  and  every  eye  in  Calcutta  upon  her.  A 
woman  might  scarcely  wish  more,  and  yet  Eileen 
was  unhappier  than  she  had  been  for  a  long  time. 
She  had  known  for  years  that  the  moment  when 
she  allowed  herself  to  be  disgusted  with  her  life 
would  be  the  beginning  of  misery  for  her.  The 
misery  —  faint  and  intangible,  to  be  sure  —  had 
begun. 

And  yet  my  heroine,  to  whom  acting,  it  would 
seem,  was  more  natural  than  nature,  was  never  so 
flushed  and  radiant  as  she  appeared  in  the  Row  that 
day.  They  had  galloped  over  the  Maidan  first, 
finding  the  Row  crowded.  Eileen,  loving  the  exer- 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  njt 

cise,  as  she  loved  nothing  else,  her  exquisite  face 
luminous  and  rosy,  with  the  pure  animal  joy  of  it, 
was  fairly  magnificent ;  adding  to  her  beauty  of  face 
her  supple  slender  figure  and  her  superb  seat,  the 
result  was  a  marvellous  moving  picture.  Everybody 
said,  "Have  you  seen  Lady  Eileen  Beaufort?" 
and  those  who  did  not  approve  of  her  stared  at  her 
most.  When  they  went  back  to  the  Row,  which 
was  fuller  than  ever,  they  rode  slowly  and  chatted ; 
for  the  whole  riding  population  was  out,  it  seemed. 
As  soon  as  the  lamps  in  the  Gardens  were  lighted, 
they  got  down  and  walked  about ;  and  there  Cap 
tain  Jack  joined  them,  he  flushed  and  radiant,  too, 
with  Eileen's  success. 

The  Eden  Gardens  are  lighted  by  clusters  of 
lamps,  like  the  Champs  Elyse"es,  and  are  prettily  laid 
out;  and  here  the  band  plays  every  evening  early, 
and  all  the  nationalities  under  the  sun  do  congre 
gate.  Here  are  English,  French,  Germans,  Span 
iards,  Italians,  Russians,  Greeks,  Armenians,  Jews  of 
half-a-dozen  sorts,  Turks,  Chinese,  and  every  kind  of 
Indians,  pure  and  half  breed.  It  is  a  bewildering, 
kaleidoscopic  mass  of  color  and  light.  There  is  no 
more  cosmopolitan  scene  in  the  whole  world,  and 
certainly  no  gayer  one. 

There  had  been  a  Durbar  in  the  morning,  and 
twenty  Rajahs  and  Maharajahs  were  driving  up  and 
down  the  Course,  resplendent  in  the  most  brilliant 
hues  and  jewels.  These  potentates  seldom  walk  in 
public ;  and  there  they  are  wise,  for  their  legs  are 
their  weak  points,  —  if  what  has  length  and  length 
only  can  be  called  a  point. 


52  THE  BEVERLEYS, 

Close  to  the  railing  was  a  line  of  servants  with 
bird-cages  taking  a  music-lesson  of  the  band,  —  not 
the  servants,  but  the  occupants  of  the  cages.  Every 
horse  had  his  syce  or  groom  squatting  at  his  fore 
legs  or  standing  at  his  head  or  darting  before  him  ; 
and  as  the  liveries  were  not  of  our  sombre  shades, 
but  as  varied  as  the  flowers  of  the  field,  if  some 
what  debased  indeed  from  Nature's  tints,  the  effect 
was  of  rainbows  upon  rainbows,  moving  and  dart 
ing  and  gleaming  here,  there,  and  everywhere. 

Every  man  in  Calcutta,  it  seemed  to  Eileen,  had 
come  to  talk  and  to  walk  with  her ;  sometimes  their 
group  joined  other  groups,  and  they  walked  six  or 
eight  or  ten  abreast,  up  the  wide  lawn  and  down, 
and  then  the  line  would  break  up  into  pairs  and  trios 
again.  Colonel  Beverley,  instead  of  giving  way  to 
the  new-comer,  clung  to  his  post.  He  usually  flitted 
about  like  all  the  rest  of  the  men,  paying  extrava 
gant  compliments,  looking  unutterable  things.  To 
day  he  sauntered  on  by  Eileen's  side,  watching  her 
face  narrowly,  and  admiring  every  movement.  Ani 
mated  always,  she  had  never  seemed  so  like  mercury 
to  him.  He  did  not  feel  for  one  moment  that  he 
had  her  undivided  notice ;  and  that  fretted  and  galled 
the  proud  chieftain,  who  was  accustomed  to  slaying 
his  victims  with  those  burning  eyes.  Eileen  was 
not  more  touched  by  his  melting  looks  than  she  was 
scorched  by  his  fiery  glances. 

Jack  Beverley  reposed  the  most  implicit  confi 
dence  in  the  lady  of  his  affections,  —  if  she  were  not 
honest,  she  would  be  nothing  to  him ;  and  so  he 
trusted  in  her  truth  as  part  of  the  unit  he  loved. 


THE  BEVERLEYS,  53 

Lady  Eileen  had  never  rejected  one  advance  of  his ; 
modest  as  Jack  was,  he  had  to  own  that  for  some 
reason  his  ardor  had  been  agreeable  to  her  and 
therefore  he  was  sure  of  her.  Jack  had  inherited  a 
very  small  sum  from  his  mother.  It  was  not  enough 
to  marry  upon,  but  he  had  the  prospect  of  an  ap 
pointment  soon  ;  and  as  soon  as  that  matter  was  set 
tled,  was  he  not  to  lay  that  sum,  with  himself  and 
his  appointment,  his  honest  heart  and  his  clean 
hand,  at  her  feet?  And  did  not  his  father  smile 
upon  the  whole  affair?  Was  there  ever,  in  short, 
such  happiness  ready  at  a  man's  call?  He  would 
have  fought  for  it  gladly,  eagerly,  —  would  have  given 
his  blood,  drop  by  drop,  for  every  smile,  every 
touch  ;  and  here  he  was,  who  had  never  deserved  it, 
who  had  done  nothing  in  his  whole  life,  who  could 
do  nothing  to  begin  to  deserve  it,  actually  at  the 
height  of  his  maddest  ambition  at  one  step.  His 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  his  soul  was  full  of 
thanksgiving. 

Jack  Beverley,  in  vulgar  parlance,  had  been  "  born 
yesterday."  He  had  been  kept  out  of  the  world 
by  a  father  who  had  no  notion  of  figuring  as  a  pa 
triarch.  He  had  learned  a  good  deal  of  men  at 
Aldershot ;  but  his  experience  of  women,  except  at 
second-hand,  was  of  the  slightest,  —  limited  to  garri 
son  belles,  who,  as  every  one  knows,  are  more  or  less 
transparent  in  their  wiles,  and  not  so  very  fascina 
ting,  even  to  the  inexpert.  His  vacations,  from  a 
small  child,  had  all  been  spent  at  school  and  at  the 
University  by  express  command  of  his  father,  who 
wished  to  keep  the  boy  unfledged  as  long  as  pos- 


54 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


sible.  But  a  manly  nature  helped  him  on,  and 
manly  tutors  taught  him  the  right  things;  so  Jack 
had  come  out  to  India,  brought  up,  as  far  as  he 
went,  in  the  right  way.  To-night,  happy  and  expect 
ant,  as  he  approached  Eileen,  he  saw  a  change  in 
her.  Love  had  made  him  blind  to  her  faults,  but 
he  was  keenly  alert  to  her  moods.  She  greeted  him 
sweetly,  but  without  warmth.  Eileen  could  be  noth 
ing  but  sweet  —  to  him  ;  and  yet  there  was  —  yes, 
he  noticed  it  more  and  more  —  there  was  a  decided 
difference  in  her  manner,  although  Jack  could  have 
hardly  given  it  a  name.  It  was  a  fine,  subtle  differ 
ence,  and  might  not  have  been  observed  by  any  one 
but  a  lover.  The  fellow  tried  to  think  of  everything 
he  had  done  or  had  not  done,  or  might  have  done 
or  might  have  left  undone.  He  had  lain  awake  all 
night  thinking  of  her,  if  that  was  a  fault ;  but  that 
could  not  be  it,  —  she  did  not  know  that.  He  had 
ridden  at  a  respectful  distance  after  her,  keeping  her 
well  in  sight  all  that  afternoon ;  he  doubted  if  she 
knew  that.  Well,  thank  Heaven,  he  could  have  an 
explanation  and  a  conclusive  talk  with  her  before 
another  twenty-four  hours  had  passed.  They  all  had 
engagements  for  that  night,  but  in  the  morning  — 

This  very  misunderstanding,  if  it  was  a  misunder 
standing,  startled  him,  and  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  .ask  Eileen  to  marry  him.  He  said  to  her,  in 
a  voice  full  of  emotion,  unmistakably  a  lover's  tone 
and  manner,  —  he  meant  it  should  be  so,  and  Eileen 
so  understood  it,  —  that  he  hoped  to  see  her  next 
day  early,  and  asked  if  ten  o'clock  would  suit  her. 
Eileen  replied  graciously  but  not  gayly,  as  was  her 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  55 

wont  with  Jack,  that  she  should  be  ready  to  see 
him  at  ten.  The  Colonel  heard  it,  and  bit  his  lip. 
Jack,  satisfied,  changed  the  subject,  and  tried  to 
keep  from  leaping  into  the  air  and  uttering  loud 
huzzahs. 

Captain  Beverley  had  not  been  mistaken.  Eileen, 
with  the  color  mounting  in  her  cheek,  her  fire  of 
repartee  running  high,  was  in  a  turmoil  within.  She 
knew  men  well ;  and  she  had  seen  and  recognized 
and  greeted  with  a  ready  response  the  truth  and  can 
dor  of  this  young  fellow  who  was  paying  her  such 
devotion ;  at  least,  she  thought  she  had  recognized  it. 
The  devotion,  Eileen  had  said  to  herself,  meant 
nothing  to  her  or  to  him.  It  was  boyish  ardor, 
and  she  had  been  brought  up  on  that  sort  of  thing  ; 
it  was  like  her  breath  to  her.  As  for  love,  it  was 
absurd,  she  said  to  herself  perversely.  Allowed 
Jack's  devotion?  Why,  yes,  what  of  that?  Her 
conscience  had  never  been  trained.  She  had  always 
allowed  men's  devotion.  Men  were  never  the  suf- 
erers  to  begin  with,  she  argued,  —  an  indifferent  man 
was  one  she  never  looked  at,  nor  spoke  to,  if  she 
could  help  it ;  a  man  must  be,  or  pretend  to  be, 
absorbed  in  her,  —  a  clever  imitation  would  do,  — 
in  order  to  interest  her  at  all.  Jack  had  been  de- 
liciously  devoted,  either  really  or  feignedly  so.  Here 
her  false  logic  was,  of  course,  put  utterly  to  rout ;  for 
if  it  was  Jack's  candor  which  charmed  her,  how 
could  he  have  been  feigning?  The  last  day  or  two 
the  logic  had  been  torn  to  shreds,  and  Eileen  had 
allowed  her  eyes  to  see,  through  the  rents  in  it,  that 
Jack  Beverley  was  in  love  with  her.  As  for  herself, 


56  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

perhaps  she  was  just  the  least  bit  in  love  with  him. 
That  very  admission,  slight  as  it  was,  had  made  her 
miserable,  for  her  nature  was  so  strange  and  way 
ward  that  she  could  not  promise  to  be  of  one 
mind  long. 

That  afternoon,  during  the  ride,  Colonel  Beverley 
had  planted  a  sting  in  her  breast.  He  had  grown 
confidential,  and  had  spoken  fondly  and  ardently  of 
his  son ;  but  that  son,  he  said,  with  a  pained  expres 
sion,  had  been  the  cause  of  much  uneasiness  to  him. 
Jack  had  a  way,  it  seemed,  of  devoting  himself 
madly,  heart  and  head,  to  a  girl ;  and  then,  flinging 
her  aside,  of  plunging  quite  as  hotly  into  another 
affair  of  the  heart  and  head.  The  fellow  seemed  to 
possess  a  kind  of  chronic  susceptibility,  his  father  said. 
He  had  tried  to  counsel  him,  —  to  show  him  how 
he  was  injuring  not  only  himself,  but  the  objects  of 
his  attention.  "  But  the  boy  [Jack  was  twenty-three] 
has  been  so  much  away  from  me,  and  I  know  so 
little  about  training  boys,  that  now  he  is  quite  be 
yond  me ;  he  is  headstrong,  and  scorns  my  advice." 
The  last  victim  ("  Before  me  he  means,"  thought 
Eileen,  angrily)  had  been  Sidney  Markham,  the  Olm- 
steds'  niece.  Sidney  Markham  was  a  prim,  pretty 
girl,  whom  Eileen  had  seen  dancing  and  walking 
and  riding  with  Jack,  when  she,  Eileen,  first  came 
out,  and  before  he  knew  her. 

Eileen  was  much  disturbed,  but  she  changed  the 
subject.  Her  respect  and  esteem  for  Colonel  Bev 
erley  were  largely  the  result  of  Jack's  for  his  father. 
Jack  had  sounded  his  father's  praises  for  hours 
together  to  her.  She  had  rarely  seen  such  perfect 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


57 


regard.  Sons  in  England,  as  a  rule,  are  not  abound 
ing  in  veneration  for  fathers,  and  Eileen  had  re 
marked  this  extraordinary  case  many  times.  It 
raised  both  men  in  her  estimation.  Now,  why  had 
Colonel  Beverley  —  a  man  of  great  dignity  and  family 
pride,  a  man,  too,  whom  she  knew  actually  so  little 
—  told  her  these  things  about  his  own  son,  unless 
because  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  warn  her  against  that 
son  whom  he,  like  everybody  else  in  Calcutta,  must 
have  seen  to  be  devoting  himself  to  her?  The 
Colonel  was  executing  a  difficult  and  a  humiliating 
task.  He  must,  therefore,  be  sincere  in  this.  This 
ride  was  for  the  purpose  of  opening  her  eyes ;  and 
the  Colonel's  own  admiring  air  must  be  to  soften 
the  hardness  of  his  words. 

Eileen  could  not  help  being  cold  to  Jack,  even 
although  she  was  angry  with  herself  for  her  clum 
siness.  Why  should  she  make  a  difference  in  her 
manner,  as  if  she  had  been  mistaken  in  him  and 
cared  ? 

Eileen  chatted  on  now,  as  if  nothing  in  the  world 
were  troubling  her.  The  Lieutenant-Governor  and 
his  party  had  joined  theirs,  and  they  all  sat  down  on 
one  of  the  benches.  There  were  some  ladies  with 
the  Lieutenant-Governor,  and  some  other  men,  and 
they  were  all  talking  about  the  Durbar  in  the 
morning. 

"  I  met  a  Maharajah,"  said  Eileen,  laughing,  to 
Sir  Apleigh  Eaton.  "  His  name  was  Puttiala,  and 
he  was  very  gorgeous,  also  extremely  disagreeable. 
He  wore  some  of  the  Empress  Eugenie's  jewels  in 
his  turban,  and  he  had  a  tassel  of  brilliants  depend- 


58  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

ing  exactly  over  his  right  eye.  I  could  think  of 
nothing  but  the  jargon  we  speak  to  our  servants,  and 
insulted  his  Royal  Highness  by  using  the  contemp 
tuous  turn  instead  of  ap.  I  was  too  confused  to 
know  what  to  say.  After  I  had  struggled  with  a 
long,  choice  sentence  and  been  worsted,  he  an 
swered  me  in  Shakspearian  English  !  " 

"  Oh,  all  those  men  speak  English,"  laughed  Sir 
Apleigh,  —  "  all  those  who  were  here  to-day.  You 
ought  to  meet  Jeypore ;  he  is  really  a  most  cultivated 
man,  and  interesting  too." 

"How  is  Sindhia?"  asked  Mrs.  Brabazon,  one  of 
the  party.  "  He  is  my  hero." 

"  Puttiala  is  mine,"  said  Eileen,  laughing.  "  He 
stared  at  me,  and  apparently  considered  me  a  solemn 
object.  Is  he  profound  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Sir  Apleigh ;  "  he  is  dissipated, 
and  not  at  all  a  good  sort  of  man." 

"  What  does  one  talk  about  with  natives  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Brabazon.  "  I  often  have  to  entertain  them, 
and  never  can  find  a  theme.  Your  learned  and 
interesting  Jeypore  called  my  attention  to  the  efful 
gence  or  refulgence  of  the  waxlights  in  the  chande 
lier,  and  descanted  upon  that.  I  never  know  what 
subjects  to  broach  with  them." 

"  They  are  interested  in  inventions,  and  in  topics 
of  general  interest  somewhat,"  said  Sir  Apleigh; 
"  in  English  and  Indian  politics,  some  of  them,  in 
science,  in  metaphysics.  They  don't  know  much 
about  fashion,  it's  true.  Of  course  they  vary  ac 
cording  to  taste ;  and  they  have  not  the  social  art 
of  concealing  or  changing  their  interests  to  suit  their 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


59 


company.  A  good  many  of  them  are  very  curious 
about  our  sentiments  and  opinions." 

"  If  the  truth  were  told,  they  are  too  deep  for  us, 
I  suppose,"  said  Eileen.  "  They  think,  and  we  don't. 
What  a  tonic  it  would  be  to  meet  them  all  the  time 
for  a  few  months,  —  to  be  obliged  to  drop  personali 
ties,  and  talk  upon  real  questions  of  the  day  !  " 

"  It  would  not  be  a  tonic,  in  the  sense  of  an 
appetite-creator,"  laughed  Colonel  Beverley,  who 
had  never  taken  his  eyes  off  Eileen's  face,  "  if  one 
had  to  live  with  them.  Their  ways  of  living  are 
horrible.  I  have  been  a  bear-leader;  I  know." 

"What  is  a  bear-leader?"  asked  one  of  the 
ladies  of  the  party,  who  had  just  come  out  from 
England. 

"  It  is  a  person  who  travels  with  a  dancing  bear," 
said  Colonel  Beverley,  "  and  sometimes  the  bear 
won't  dance.  In  other  words,  my  dear  Mrs.  Stuart- 
Kendal,  it  is  an  English  resident  at  the  court  of  a 
native  prince.  If  a  man  survives  that,  he  can  stand 
anything." 

It  was  growing  dark  and  late,  and  the  Gardens 
were  nearly  deserted  now.  The  Winterfords'  car 
riage,  which  was  always  at  the  gate,  had  not  been 
seen  there,  although  one  of  the  suite  had  been 
despatched  every  few  minutes  to  look  for  it. 

"  I  can't  walk  home  in  my  habit,"  said  Eileen, 
aghast.  "  It 's  too  far,  and  so  late  too.  I  shall  have 
to  come  to  a  ticca  for  the  first  time  in  my  life ;  nearly 
all  the  carriages  have  gone." 

"  How  stupid  of  me  to  send  the  horses  away  !  " 
exclaimed  Colonel  Beverley ;  "  but  I  made  sure  of 


60  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

Lady  Barney's  being  here.  She  never  misses  coming 
to  the  Gardens." 

"My  horse  is  here,"  Jack  broke  in;  "but,  of 
course,  a  lady  can't  ride  him  with  my  saddle." 

"  Nor  unattended  either,"  said  the  Colonel,  crossly, 
in  an  aside  to  his  son.  "  Why  do  you  mention  ab 
surdities?  Get  the  best-looking  ticca  you  can  find, 
for  Heaven's  sake  !  I  never  was  so  mortified  in  my 
life,"  he  said,  turning  to  Eileen. 

Jack  came  bounding  back.  "  Blessed  be  native 
stupidity  for  once  !  "  he  cried.  "  Your  men  mistook 
the  order,  and  Lady  Eileen's  horse  is  waiting.  You 
take  mine,  father  !  "  And  Jack  raised  his  hat,  and 
walked  off  to  prevent  discussion. 

Barney  met  the  equestrians  at  the  gate  of  his  own 
house.  He  was  driving. 

"Why,  Barney,"  called  out  Eileen,  reining  up. 
"  You  are  surely  not  starting  out  at  this  hour.  Every 
body  has  left  the  Gardens.  It 's  time  to  dress  for 
dinner." 

"  I  'm  going  for  a  turn,"  said  Barney.  "  I  Ve  had 
no  airing.  It 's  hot,  and  there 's  no  party  to-night, 
and  Philippa  's  not  come  in  from  driving.  Dinner 
will  not  be  until  nine." 

"  Oh,  horrid  !  "  cried  Eileen.  "  It 's  only  half- 
past  seven  and  I  'm  starving.  How  unkind  of  you, 
Barney,  to  change  the  hour  without  consulting  us  ! 
Besides,  Barney,"  and  her  eyes  opened  wide,  "  there 
is  a  party;  the  Strahans  and  the  Olmsteds  are 
coming  to  dinner.  Do  you  suppose  I  could  forget 
such  a  prospect?  Why,  Barney,  you're  off  your 
head." 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  6 1 

Barney  looked  startled.  "Good  gracious!"  he 
said,  "  you  're  right,  Eileen.  But  where 's  Philippa, 
then?  She  never  drives  as  late  as  this!"  And 
Barney,  with  a  remembrance  of  his  wife's  last  lofty 
look,  really  turned  a  trifle  pale  in  the  dark. 

"Why,  I  don't  know,"  Eileen  said.  "At  home, 
I  supposed.  And  yet  it  seemed  odd;  she  always 
comes  to  the  Gardens  or  sends  the  carriage  for 
me." 

"  I  will  ride  out  and  look  for  her,"  Colonel  Bever- 
ley  offered,  with  a  show  of  concern. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Barney.  "  Thank  you,  Bev,  I  '11  go 
myself.  Philippa  has  driven  a  long  way,  I  suppose, 
without  thinking."  It  was  a  thing  she  never  did. 
"  I  only  hope  that  brute  of  a  coachman  had  not  had 
too  much  arrak.  Go  in,  Eileen,"  he  said,  seeing  her 
anxious  look.  "  Nothing  is  wrong,  of  course.  We 
lead  such  ridiculously  regular  lives  here  that  the 
least  deviation  upsets  one." 

Barney,  in  turn  indignant  and  indifferent  with  his 
wife,  had  laid  a  small  plan  of  his  own,  which  was  now 
forgotten  in  his  vague  alarm.  He  had  intended  to 
go  out  driving  himself,  and  to  stay  out  late  enough 
to  make  Philippa  very  anxious.  Then,  after  she 
had  worried  a  good  hour  or  so,  by  which  time  he 
should  have  been  very  hungry,  he  was  to  come 
home ;  and  Philippa,  in  her  joy  to  see  him,  would 
have  forgiven  and  forgotten  everything.  Their  own 
dinners  were  the  best  in  Calcutta,  and  Barney  rarely 
stayed  away  from  one  of  them. 

Philippa,  all  unconscious  of  the  hour,  had  tunied 
the  tables  upon  Barney  at  his  own  game.  He  would 


62  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

not  have  dreamed  of  worrying,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  scorn  and  anger  with  which  she  had  left  him. 
There  was  nothing  she  could  do ;  and  Philippa  was 
not  the  person  to  "  do  "  anything.  Yet  he  was  per 
turbed,  and  he  had  a  faint  presentiment  of  evil.  So 
it  was  a  great  relief,  after  he  had  scoured  the  roads 
about,  to  see  Philippa's  carriage  coming  into  the 
little  street  at  one  end  as  he  entered  it  at  the  other. 

The  house-servants  were  standing  about  in  the 
driveway,  which  was  unwonted  for  them.  Eileen, 
in  dinner-dress,  was  pacing  the  veranda  nervously. 
Altogether  there  was  an  air  of  disturbance  about  the 
house.  Philippa  pretended  not  to  notice  it.  Barney 
drove  in  just  behind  Philippa,  and  rushed  to  help  her 
out.  Make  up  your  mind,  Philippa,  what  shall  it  be  ? 
Reserve,  anger,  indifference,  concealed  suffering, — 
what?  Proud  reserve  it  should  be,  thought  Phi 
lippa,  and  above  all,  silence.  No  arguments,  no 
threats,  no  pleas.  Disdain,  I  am  afraid  it  was,  but 
she  called  it  reserve. 

"  Why,  Flip,"  Barney  said  tenderly,  as  he  handed 
her  out,  "  how  you  have  frightened  us  !  Where  on 
earth  have  you  been?  " 

"Just  driving,"  answered  Philippa,  stepping  out 
leisurely. 

"  Driving  at  this  hour  by  yourself  is  not  safe,"  he 
urged.  "  Don't  do  it  again,  dear  !  "  His  show  of 
solicitude  moved  Philippa  to  more  anger  than  she 
had  felt  before ;  her  cheek  flushed,  and  she  walked 
in  a  stately  manner  up  the  stairway,  to  be  met  by 
another  perturbed  spirit  at  the  top. 

"  Philippa  !  "    Eileen  exclaimed,  on  the  landing. 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  63 

"  How  naughty  of  you  to  frighten  us  so  !  Barney 
has  been  out  looking  for  you  ever  so  long." 

Philippa  smiled  coldly.  "  I  Ve  been  for  rather 
a  long  drive,"  she  said.  "  Did  you  go  to  the 
Gardens?  I  forgot  about  your  riding.  How  did 
you  get  back?  " 

"  I  managed,"  said  Eileen ;  "  or  my  syce  did  for 
me,  by  misunderstanding  the  order  to  go  home, 
luckily.  It 's  pretty  late,  and  your  dinner-people 
will  be  here  in  twenty  minutes."  Philippa  van 
ished.  She  had  no  idea  of  being  rude  to  her 
guests,  and  was  shocked  at  her  own  tardiness. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

rT>HE  Strahans  were  high  up  in  the  civil  ser- 
•*•  vice,  and  had  to  be  conciliated.  The  Hon. 
Alexander  Hope  Strahan  was  a  tall,  severe-looking 
man,  with  long  gray  whiskers  and  no  mustache. 
His  eyes  were  small  and  colorless ;  his  lips  were  thin 
and  firmly  set.  He  disapproved  most  strongly  of 
Barney  Winterford,  personally,  as  did  Mrs.  Strahan 
of  Eileen.  Lady  Barney,  somehow,  commanded 
respect.  She,  although  as  remote  from  brilliancy 
as  can  be  well  conceived,  —  and  in  fact  brilliancy 
would  not  have  been  in  her  favor  with  that  set,  — 
was  dignified  and  decorous,  and  no  one  in  Calcutta 
had  ever  one  word  to  say  in  her  dispraise.  Even 
the  men  who  voted  her  an  icicle  found  her  steady 
and  useful  as  a  chaperone  and  a  friend,  if  they 
needed  one.  She  was  a  woman  whom  no  one  knew 
intimately ;  and  not  to  be  known  intimately  is  in 
itself  to  be  respected. 

Mrs.  Strahan  was  little,  and  plain,  faded,  and 
rather  dingy.  She  had  large,  pale  blue  eyes,  and  a 
large  smile ;  the  eyes  never  darkened,  —  it  was  not 
their  fault,  poor  things  !  they  had  no  facilities,  —  and 
the  smile  was  fixed.  She  sang,  in  the  usual  amateur 
drawing-room  voice,  and  drew  in  a  mincing  way. 
It  was  the  popular  impression  that  she  was  clever, 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  65 

and  most  persons  were  afraid  of  her.  Next  year  her 
eldest  daughter  was  to  be  brought  out,  and  that  was 
one  reason  why  Mrs.  Strahan  showed  open  hostility 
to  Eileen.  The  Olmsteds  and  their  niece  Sidney 
Markham  were  also  at  the  dinner ;  a  Judge  of  the 
High  Court  and  his  wife,  —  sweet  serene  people, 
wrapped  up  in  each  other,  and  one  in  all  things,  in 
cluding  an  intense  desire  to  get  back  to  England  as 
soon  as  possible.  Sidney  Markham  was  stiff  and 
quiet;  she  had  dovelike  eyes  and  a  sweet  smile. 
She  was  very  pretty,  very  conventional,  and  very 
easily  shocked.  It  was  just  the  party  to  bring  out 
Eileen's  worst  points,  and  to-night  she  seemed  pos 
sessed  to  air  them  all. 

There  were  two  extra  men  of  the  party  also, —  Tom 
Carbury,  to  keep  Barney  in  countenance ;  and  Sir 
William  Mann,  a  member  of  the  Viceroy's  Council. 
Lady  Barney  was  not  distinguished  for  the  congruity 
of  her  dinner  arrangements. 

She  was  out  before  any  of  her  guests  arrived,  after 
all.  She  moved  restlessly  about,  adjusting  a  vase 
here,  straightening  a  table-cover  there,  and  at  last 
she  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  hummed  softly  for  fear 
of  conversation  with  Barney.  The  Olmsteds  came 
first ;  and  while  Philippa  and  Mrs.  Olmsted  were  dis 
cussing  the  next  tea  and  the  last  novel,  Eileen  and 
Sidney  Markham  were  trying  to  carry  on  a  girl's  talk, 
—  dreary,  for  the  heart  of  neither  was  in  it.  Barney 
and  Mr.  Olmsted  were  talking  about  matters  at 
home,  and  appointments  and  recalls  in  India ;  and 
then  Tom  Carbury  with  the  Strahans  entered  the 
room,  and  the  conversation  became  more  general. 
S 


66  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

There  were  two  coals,  or  perhaps  three,  in  the  draw 
ing-room  grate ;  and  the  punkahs  having  been  re 
moved,  one  felt  that  winter  had  really  set  in.  So 
Eileen  said  laughingly  to  the  Hon.  Alexander  Hope, 
who  was  standing,  with  his  back  to  the  two  coals, 
in  true  English  home-fashion. 

"  Do  you  remember  Punch's  remark,  '  Summer 
has  set  in  with  its  usual  severity  '  ?  "  Eileen  asked 
Sidney  Markham  and  Mr.  Strahan,  who  was  standing 
by  them.  "  I  always  think  of  it  when  we  play  at 
winter  here.  Once  I  do  remember  drawing  the 
curtains  and  huddling  up  close  to  this  mean  little 
grate,  and  once  —  no,  yes,  could  it  have  been?  — 
yes,  I  did,  —  I  positively  shivered  !  " 

Mr.  Strahan  looked  solemnly  at  her.  "  I  think 
our  evenings  are  really  cold  in  December,"  he  said. 
"  I  wear  a  fur  coat  when  I  go  to  the  opera." 

"  There  is  a  chill  in  the  evening  air,"  replied 
Sidney. 

"  It 's  smoke  and  dampness,"  said  Eileen,  per 
versely.  "  There  's  nothing  so  chilly  as  smoke." 

Philippa,  who  expected  to  pass  a  dreadful  evening 
with  Eileen  and  these  people,  looked  up,  and  tried 
to  convey  a  warning  glance.  Eileen  knew  too  much 
to  look  at  her  and  went  on.  "  That  sealskin  coat  of 
yours  is  painted  to  imitate  fur,  —  now  own  it !  "  she 
said,  looking  at  the  Hon.  Alexander  Hope.  "It's 
made  of  muslin  really ;  you  can't  deceive  me." 

Mr.  Strahan  smiled  in  a  sickly  fashion.  He  never 
knew  what  to  say  in  response  to  a  joke. 

Sidney  Markham  looked  bored.  "  I  wear  furs," 
she  said,  "  all  through  the  cold  weather." 


THE  SEVER  LEYS.  6^ 

"  Another  subject,  quick  !  "  thought  Eileen ;  "  this 
one  is  done  for.  —  Speaking  of  operas,"  she  asked 
suddenly,  "what  are  our  operas  to  be  this  cold 
weather?" 

"  Third-rate  Italian  this  year,"  broke  in  Tom  Car- 
bury,  offering  Eileen  his  arm,  at  a  signal  from  Lady 
Barney.  "  Last  year  it  was  fourth-rate  German ; 
next  year  it  will  be  fifth-rate  French.  What  bad 
music  one  does  put  up  with  in  India,  to  be  sure,  and 
what  hags  and  patriarchs  one  has  to  sing  it !  " 

"Why  is  it?"  asked  Eileen.  "Why  can't  we 
have,  say,  second-rate  talent  at  least?  We  have 
never  soared  as  high  as  that  yet,  have  we?  " 

The  Strahans  had  been  always  foremost  in  bring 
ing  opera  to  Calcutta.  Mrs.  Strahan,  who  was  seating 
herself  next  but  one  to  Eileen,  overheard  this  and 
bristled.  "  I  wish  those  who  think  it  a  simple  matter 
to  import  opera  troupes  would  try  it,"  she  said  with 
acerbity.  "  We  have  had  all  we  want  of  drudgery 
and  ingratitude." 

"You  have  done  beautifully,"  broke  in  Mrs. 
Olmsted,  with  a  smile ;  "  I  'm  sure  no  one  has 
complained." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Strahan,  "  we  hear  our  com 
panies  called  -hird  and  fourth  rate  constantly." 

Eileen,  who  loved  a  brush  with  Mrs.  Strahan, 
was  opening  her  mouth,  when  Mrs.  Olmsted  spoke. 
"  The  difficulties  are  well  known,"  she  said.  "  No 
first-rate  voices  will  come  to  the  East.  The  voyage 
is  too  trying,  and  the  climate ;  and  then  getting 
out  of  the  country  is  so  doubtful !  We  have  had 
two  managers,  you  know,  absconding  with  the  sub- 


68  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

scription  money,  and  leaving  the  poor  wretches  to 
beg  their  way  back  to  Europe.  Shall  you  ever  for 
get,"  she  said,  turning  to  Philippa,  "  those  pitiful 
things,  and  the  way  they  hung  about  for  months? 
Some  of  them,  I  am  sure,  are  here  now." 

"/never  shall  forget  them,"  said  Barney,  sighing. 
"  I  used  to  shut  my  eyes,  going  round  corners  on 
my  way  to  my  office,  for  fear  I  should  see  an  elderly 
ingenue  or  an  aged  coryphe'e  begging  for  money  to 
get  home  with.  Pickett  married  one  of  them,  you 
know,  to  get  rid  of  her.  Some  of  them  were  not 
so  lucky." 

It  is  not  often  a  dinner  of  ten  becomes  so 
social,  and  perhaps  Philippa  thought  Barney  would 
better  devote  himself  to  two  persons  at  a  time ;  so 
she  began  a  low  dialogue  with  Mr.  Olmsted  on  her 
right,  and  for  a  time  general  conversation  died. 

Captain  Carbury  and  Eileen  were  friends,  and 
they  might  have  had  a  jovial  dinner  of  it,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  Mrs.  Strahan,  on  Tom's  left.  Mr. 
Olmsted  was  busy  with  Lady  Barney  a  part  of  the 
time,  and  then  Eileen  would  remind  Captain  Car- 
bury  of  his  duty  to  Mrs.  Strahan ;  and  once  or  twice 
that  lady  herself  broke  in  upon  Eileen's  and  Tom's 
talk.  Once  Eileen  was  saying,  "  I  don't  know  why 
it  is  that  women  are  always  so  mortally  ashamed, 
so  afraid,  of  having  it  known  that  men  have  treated 
them  ill." 

"  It  is  because,"  said  Mrs.  Strahan,  with  a  flush, 
"  it  means  disgrace." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all,"  said  Eileen,  "  if 
you  will  excuse  me.  When  a  man  jilts  a  girl,  if  / 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  69 

were  the  girl,  I  should  far  rather  the  truth  would 
be  known.  I  should  be  a  thousand  times  more 
ashamed  of  throwing  a  man  over  than  of  being 
thrown  over  by  him." 

"  How  dreadful !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Strahan,  with 
a  horrified  look.  "  It  is  a  lasting  disgrace  to  a  girl 
to  be  'jilted,'  as  you  call  it." 

"  You  would  think  so  too,  Eileen,  if  it  were  your 
case,"  suggested  Philippa,  shaking  her  head  sur 
reptitiously  at  Eileen,  who  tossed  hers  in  reply. 
There  was  no  use  in  airing  out-of-the-way  sentiments 
before  these  people.  They  understood  only  cut- 
and-dried  opinions  and  ways  of  thinking. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  responded  the  Irrepressible, 
boldly,  and  in  rather  a  loud  tone,  "  a  man  did  once 
treat  me  very  ill." 

"How  old  were  you?"  asked  Barney,  dryly. 
"  Six  or  seven  ?  You  were  married  before  you  were 
out  of  pinafores." 

"  Oh,  I  was  old,"  answered  Eileen,  — "  old 
enough,  that  is  to  say,  to  feel  it  a  good  deal.  He 
jilted  me.  I  am  not  joking,  truly." 

Barney  and  Captain  Carbury  were  the  only  ones 
at  the  table  who  enjoyed  this.  Philippa  thought  re 
marks  of  the  sort  in  wretched  form,  Mrs.  Strahan 
was  utterly  horrified,  Sidney  Markham  looked  silly ; 
and  the  others  could  not  understand  joking,  if  it 
was  joking,  upon  such  a  solemn  subject.  Captain 
Carbury  laughed  aloud. 

"  You  are  the  most  amusing  woman  I  Ve  ever 
seen  in  my  life,"  he  whispered  to  Eileen,  "and 
the  women  who  say  those  things  are  the  ones 


70  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

who  are  most  beset  by  men.  Much  a  man  jilted 
you  ! " 

"  A  man,"  said  Eileen,  soberly,  and  looking  full 
at  Carbury,  "  paid  me  conspicuous  and  devoted  at 
tention,  followed  me  about,  made  desperate  love 
to  me,  in  short ;  and  when  I  thought  he  was  going 
to  ask-  me  to  marry  him  —  and  I  had  every  right  to 
suppose  it  —  he  did  n't !  I  found  that  he  was  car 
rying  on  the  same  performance  with  other  women ; 
that  his  honesty  was  the  best  kind  of  acting ;  that 
his  impassionate  utterances  were  drama  of  the  first 
order.  I  suppose  it  is  a  common  thing ;  it  hap 
pened  to  be  my  first  experience  of  the  kind.  I  do 
not  mind ;  I  am  not  ashamed.  I  was  hurt  and  angry, 
but  I  don't  think  I  was  in  love,  and  I  don't  think 
I  suffered,  except  in  my  self-esteem ;  and  that  was 
the  last  rag  of  it, —  I  have  none  left,  not  a  shred." 

"  That  was  not  jilting,  surely,"  said  Captain  Car- 
bury.  "  I  don't  believe  you  know  what  the  word 
means.  The  poor  fellow  saw,  before  it  was  too  late, 
that  there  was  no  chance  for  him  ;  and  if  you  were 
not  touched,  Lady  Eileen,  you  must  have  had 
a  good  deal  of  amusement  and  an  easy  escape. 
Most  men  are  not  shaken  off  so  easily.  He  perhaps 
knew  you  could  not  be  won,  from  the  first.  But  I 
believe,  from  what  I  know  of  the  man  —  "  Eileen 
turned  pale.  "  No,  no,"  he  said,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon ;  I  do  not  know  that  man,  of  course.  I  only 
mean  from  what  you  say  of  him,  and  from  what 
I  have  seen  of  you,  that  he  had  to  flee  in  time, 
or  to  be  burned  to  a  crisp  at  your  shrine.  Every 
man  I  know  is  afraid  to  see  too  much  of  you." 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  71 

"  I  fancied,"  said  Eileen,  growing  suddenly  red, 
and  looking  down,  "  that  we  were  talking  truth  and 
sense.  I  loathe  flattery ;  I  abhor  the  kind  of  thing 
you  have  just  said.  You  don't  believe  me,  I  dare 
say ;  you  do  not  know  me." 

Eileen  turned  away  from  Carbury,  angry  with  him, 
with  herself,  with  everybody.  She  had  been  natu 
ral  and  ingenuous  just  to  see  what  the  effect  would 
be.  It  had  ended,  as  everything  else  did,  in  a 
fulsome  compliment.  Everybody  thought  that  was 
what  she  expected  and  needed,  and  must  have. 
Bah! 

Sir  William  Mann  had  been  talking  temperance 
and  early  hours  and  good  habits  generally  to  Sidney 
Markham.  Not  that  she  needed  suggestions  on 
these  points  ;  she  was  exemplary  to  a  degree.  But 
she  was  a  good  listener ;  so  they  had  got  on  very 
well.  Eileen  now  joined  in.  "  Then  you  believe  in 
shutting  up  shops  —  I  don't  mean  shops,  but  eating- 
places,  restaurants,  early  at  night,  Sir  William?" 
said  Eileen.  "  What  are  poor,  hungry  theatre-goers 
to  do  then?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  poor,  starving  theatre-goers  would 
have  to  sup  at  home,  or  go  without,"  said  Sir  Wil 
liam,  smiling  down  upon  Eileen;  and  Eileen,  with 
the  crimson  flush  in  her  cheek,  in  her  pale  blue 
dress,  with  the  candle-light  upon  her,  was  something 
to  smile  upon.  "  I  disapprove  of  this  eating  in  pub 
lic,  which  seems  to  have  proved  so  fascinating  of  late 
years  to  our  people.  It  is  entirely  un-English,  to 
begin  with,  and  I  certainly  disapprove  of  keeping 
the  worn-out  men  and  women  who  have  to  be  at 


72  THE  B EVER  LEYS. 

their  posts  early  next  day  up  to  unheard-of  hours  of 
the  night.  It  is  barbarous." 

"  Oh,  if  you  come  to  that,"  said  Barney,  "  no 
body  wants  to  work.  Everybody  is  tired.  If  you 
sup  late  at  home,  you  keep  your  own  servants  up ; 
and  as  for  making  coachmen  and  footmen  wait  out 
in  the  cold  all  night,  why,  think  how  we  have  to  do 
it  in  England  !  And  if  we  spare  our  own  servants, 
as  some  persons  do,  and  hire  livery-men,  why, 
there  's  the  same  cruelty  again.  One  could  have  no 
service  at  all,  if  one  stopped  to  think  of  servants' 
fatigues  all  the  time." 

"  I  never  thought  about  the  waiters  at  restaurants, 
poor  things  !  "  said  Eileen,  pensively,  and  rather  ig 
noring  Barney's  remark.  The  new  turn  in  the  con 
versation  had  attracted  listeners ;  and  seeing  Mrs. 
Strahan's  pale  eyes  upon  her,  Eileen  went  on  to 
her  destruction.  "  I  remember  once  being  put  out 
of  a  restaurant  in  London  at  midnight  by  the  po 
lice."  (Philippa  positively  gasped,  and  Barney  looked 
severely  for  once  at  his  sister.  "  Is  the  girl  mad?  " 
he  thought.)  "  You  were  with  me,  Barney,  I  think, 
or  perhaps  it  was  papa ;  at  any  rate,  it  was  a  man, 
of  course,  —  it  doesn't  matter  who."  ("I  should 
think  it  did  matter  who,"  remarked  Philippa.  Mrs. 
Olmsted  had  a  serious  notion  of  marching  Sidney 
Markham  out  of  hearing  of  these  extraordinary  rem 
iniscences.)  "Yes,  it  was  papa,"  laughed  Eileen. 
"  How  frightened  you  look,  Philippa  !  We  walked 
into  this  place  calmly  and  unsuspectingly,  after  the 
theatre,  ordered  our  supper,  and  were  just  eating  it, 
—  most  delicious  oysters,  or  something,  —  when  a 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  73 

policeman  came  in,  if  you  please,  and  ordered  us 
out.  You  may  imagine  papa's  language,"  said 
Eileen,  turning  to  Barney.  "  If  it  had  not  been  for 
me,  he  would  have  fought  the  whole  police  force 
(my  relations  have  tried  that  sort  of  thing  before)  ; 
but  I  made  him  come  out  quietly,  although  I  was 
furious  too  at  having  my  supper  spoiled.  But  I  do 
remember  now  how  tired  the  poor  thing  looked  who 
was  waiting  upon  us,  —  ready  to  drop.  I  'm  glad 
he  got  to  bed  a  little  earlier,  if  one  did  lose  one's 
oysters." 

There  was  nothing  very  reprehensible  in  what 
Eileen  had  been  saying;  but  Philippa,  who  had 
heard  something  startling  from  her  sister-in-law 
every  time  she  had  heard  anything,  and  who  saw  that 
most  of  her  prim  guests  were  neither  amused  nor 
edified,  was  thankful  when  the  dinner  ended.  Phi 
lippa  was  hopelessly  depressed  in  mind,  body,  and 
spirit ;  and  although  she  had  seemed  as  usual,  it  was 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  she  had  been  civil  to 
her  guests.  And  Eileen  did  nothing  but  say  shock 
ing  things,  and  injure  herself  with  important  persons 
in  Calcutta,  whose  favor  might  mean  much  to  her. 
Poor  Philippa  !  she  felt  even  more  indignation  with 
Eileen  than  with  Barney  at  the  moment,  and  was 
glad  to  give  the  signal  to  withdraw. 

It  was  not  very  lively  in  the  drawing-room  after 
dinner.  They  talked  of  a  young  wife  who  had  been 
sent  home  in  disgrace  for  flirting,  of  a  new  engage 
ment,  an  old  divorce.  Eileen  and  Sidney  talked  of 
tennis  and  their  horses  and  the  next  Government 
House  ball.  The  question  of  trains  or  no  trains  at 


74  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

the  next  Drawing-room  was  a  subject  which  was 
absorbing  the  population  feminine  of  Calcutta  just 
then,  and  that  was  discussed  in  all  its  bearings.  Jack 
Beverley's  name  was  mentioned,  casually,  by  some 
body;  and  Sidney  blushed. 

"  I  hope  I  did  not  blush,"  thought  Eileen.  "  I 
know  I  did  not.  I  can  conceal  everything  I  feel,  I 
am  glad  to  say.  It  is  a  great  art." 

"  We  are  going  to  England  in  March,"  said  Mrs. 
Strahan,  "  quite  unexpectedly.  My  husband  ap 
plied  for  leave,  for  his  health,  but  we  really  hardly 
expected  to  get  it." 

"  Does  Milly  come  out  with  you?"  asked  Sidney 
Markham. 

"  Yes,  she  will  come  out  for  next  cold  weather. 
She  is  a  tall,  handsome  child." 

"Is  she  like  her  father?"  said  Eileen. 

"  My  own  family  is  tall,"  said  Mrs.  Strahan,  not 
looking  at  Eileen,  as  she  bit  off  the  words,  "  and 
there  have  been  some  celebrated  beauties  in  it. 
How  hard  it  must  be  for  you,  dear  Lady  Barney," 
she  said  in  an  undertone  a  minute  later,  "to  look 
after  a  headstrong  creature  like  that !  She  must 
be  frightful  to  manage." 

Philippa  flushed.  The  angrier  she  was  with 
Barney,  and  the  readier  to  scold  Eileen,  the  more 
she  constituted  herself  the  outward  champion  of 
both.  "I  find  no  difficulty  in  guiding  her,"  she 
said  with  a  smile,  which  had  a  kind  of  hauteur 
about  it,  —  a  combination  for  which  Philippa  was 
noted.  The  exact  point  at  which  the  freeze  melted 
and  the  thaw  congealed,  nobody  knew.  But  it  was 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  75 

an  effective  process,  and  Mrs.  Strahan  said  no 
more. 

The  custom  of  sitting  over  wine  had  almost  gone 
out  at  the  period  of  which  I  write,  although  old- 
fashioned  people,  like  the  Strahans  and  Olmsteds, 
who  detested  innovation,  still  clung  to  it.  Out  of 
deference  to  them,  therefore,  Barney  kept  his  guests 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  the  ladies  had  gone  up. 
But  Tom  Carbury  stayed  hardly  five  minutes.  Eileen 
had  a  new  and  strange  charm  for  him  to-night.  He 
perhaps  was  one  of  the  very  men  of  whom  he  had 
himself  spoken,  —  those  who  had  dared  see  little  of 
such  a  priestess,  —  but  he  felt  drawn  to  her  to-night, 
particularly  as  he  remembered  that  he  had  offended 
her.  Eileen  was  sitting  in  the  corner  of  a  high- 
backed  sofa,  with  her  feet  on  a  cushion.  Her  dress 
was  of  a  blue  so  pale  that  it  was  nearly  white,  except 
in  folds  where  the  shadows  made  color.  There  was 
soft  lace  about  it,  and  she  was  sitting  in  the  simplest 
attitude  a  young  woman  can  take,  and  the  hardest 
to  take  gracefully,  —  her  hands  were  lying  in  her  lap, 
and  her  head  was  thrown  slightly  back.  She  did 
not  stir  as  Carbury  approached  her,  nor  smile,  nor 
make  room  for  him.  So  he  went  and  sat  beside 
Sidney  Markham,  and  looked  at  Eileen. 

Later,  when  the  other  men  came  upstairs,  Tom 
went  and  stood  behind  her.  He  leaned  over  her 
sofa.  She  did  not  look  then.  "  I  'm  sorry,"  he 
murmured  softly,  "very  sorry."  Eileen  did  not 
move.  "  Whether  you  forgive  me  or  not,  I  am  still 
sorry,"  he  said. 

"  If  you  are  sorry,  then,"  exclaimed  Eileen,  sud- 


76  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

denly,  sitting  upright,  and  looking  over  her  shoulder 
at  him,  "  come  here  and  talk  to  me  like  a  rational 
being.  Tell  me  why  life  is  so  empty  when  people 
like  these  are  by.  Why  can  I  not  smile  and  be 
gracious  and  yet  distant,  like  Philippa?  And  why 
would  n't  I  be,  if  I  could  ?  Why  do  good,  stupid 
persons,  who  are  worth  a  hundred  of  me  apiece,  bore 
me  to  the  verge  of  shrieking?  And  why  do  I  show 
the  worst  in  me,  and  shock  them,  and  hate  them, 
and  let  them  all  see  it?  Don't  tell  me  they  are  not 
stupid  on  account  of  their  goodness ;  I  know  that, 
or  at  least  I  should  know  it,  I  have  been  told  so 
enough.  What  do  you  think,  honestly?" 

All  this  was  rather  beyond  Tom,  who  had  never 
analyzed  a  sensation  in  his  life.  But  he  recognized, 
with  true  manly  instinct,  that  a  fellow-creature,  and 
a  beautiful  one,  was  suffering  the  pangs  of  self-dis 
gust.  He  had  come  to  her  side  long  before  this, 
and  was  sitting  on  the  couch  by  her.  "  I  am  for 
bidden  to  make  fine  speeches,"  he  said,  "so  I  can 
not  tell  you  what  I  truly  think.  You  have  never 
learned  perhaps  to  get  the  best  out  of  people.  I 
suppose  many  can  do  that.  I  eat  my  dinner,  and 
thank  God  for  a  good  one.  I  enjoy  the  lively 
guests,  and  let  the  dull  ones  alone  as  much  as  possi 
ble.  Then  I  go  home  and  forget  the  stupid  parts 
of  the  evenings  and  dwell  on  the  bright  ones. 
That 's  all  the  philosophy  I  have.  I  try  not  to  of 
fend  these  prim  creatures ;  perhaps  you  are  too 
young  to  have  learned  that.  It  does  n't  pay,  you 
know.  You  oblige  me  to  speak  roughly.  Now,  if  I 
said  what  I  really  felt,  I  should  —  " 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  77 

"  No,  you  would  n't,"  interrupted  Eileen,  smiling 
brightly  upon  him.  "You  are  good  to  me,  and  I 
forgive  you  now  and  thank  you.  I  will  tell  you 
something.  I  am  worthless,  I  know  nothing,  I  care 
about  nothing,  I  make  nothing  of  my  life,  I  make 
nothing  of  others'  lives.  This  looks  like  penitence, 
does  n't  it  ?  and  I  suppose  you  think  it 's  a  hopeful 
sign ;  but  it  is  not  even  that.  It 's  only  a  fit ;  it 
won't  last.  I  shall  be  just  as  bad  to-morrow;  in 
fact,  I  am  just  as  bad  now.  But  I  don't  want  you, 
nor  anybody,  to  think  that  I  don't  know  what  a  fool 
I  am,  —  that 's  all." 

Mrs.  Strahan  was  singing  ballads ;  Sir  William 
Mann  was  turning  over  the  music  for  her.  After 
she  had  sung  her  two  songs,  with  ten  verses  each 
(the  regulation  number),  Sir  William,  contrary  to 
all  precedent,  urged  her  to  sing  again.  She  sim 
pered,  and  complied  with  the  request.  Her  style 
evidently  suited  him,  for  after  even  the  third  ditty 
he  clapped  his  hands  gleefully  together,  and  ex 
claimed,  "  Oh,  more,  more  !  " 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Eileen,  "  Sir  William,  you  are 
as  bad  as  Oliver  Twist !  " 

"Was  Oliver  fond  of  music?  "  asked  the  august 
member  of  Council,  innocently. 

Tom  Carbury  was  flattered  by  Eileen's  confidence, 
but  he  need  not  have  been ;  for  Eileen  that  night 
would  have  confided  in  anybody  who  could  under 
stand  her  language.  And  Carbury  was  the  only 
person  in  the  house  who  had  a  ray  of  intelligence, 
she  said  to  herself  impatiently.  Philippa  would 
have  called  this  disgust  of  herself  vulgar,  —  I  don't 


78  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

think  Eileen  understood  Philippa.  Barney  would 
have  roared  at  her  and  called  her  silly.  The  Olmsteds 
and  Strahans  and  Sidney  Markham  and  Sir  William 
Mann  —  well,  he  might  have  looked  upon  her  as  a 
convert,  to  be  sure,  and  hailed  her  symptoms  with 
joy,  but  the  rest  would  have  gaped  at  her  in  dismay. 
Mrs.  Olmsted  would  have  given  her  a  soothing  drink, 
and  put  her  to  bed  perhaps ;  but  the  Strahans,  — 
oh,  what  was  the  use  of  even  thinking  of  them  ! 
They  never  entered  into  her  calculations  for  a  mo 
ment,  except  on  an  occasion  like  this. 

They  sat,  Eileen  and  Carbury,  ostensibly  listening 
to  the  song,  but  really  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to 
go  on  with  their  talk. 

Tom  spoke  when  there  was  a  chance.  "  I  'm  glad 
you  have  said  this  to  me,"  he  said,  "  and  I  'm  aw 
fully  obliged  to  you.  You  shall  speak  of  it  first,  if 
you  like,  or  not  at  all  when  we  meet  again.  I  sha'n't 
allude  to  it.  It  is  only  women  who  are  every 
thing,  who  speak  of  themselves  as  nothing."  This 
was  very  eloquent  for  poor  Tom,  and  he  grew  very 
red.  "  If  I  had  any  ambition,  I  should  feel  as  you 
do  all  the  time.  Jack  Beverley  does  feel  so.  '  Here 
am  I,'  he  said  to  me  only  to-day,  '  a  great,  strong, 
hulking  man,  leading  a  flunkey's  life ;  when  for  a 
good  mount,  comfortable  quarters,  pretty  clothes,  and 
a  French  chef,  I  settle  down  into  a  fool's  Paradise, 
and  let  life  and  all  its  obligations  go  over  my  head. 
I  tell  you,  Carbury,'  he  said,  '  this  India  can  be  so 
much,  and  is  so  little,  to  us  English.  What  do  we 
know  of  the  lives  of  these  miserable  wretches  about 
us  ? '  I  think,  Lady  Eileen,  that  it  was  our  little 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


79 


talk    under   the    banyan-tree   this   morning   which 
started  you  both  out  in  such  a  doleful  strain." 

Eileen  looked  happy.  It  pleased  her  to  hear 
Captain  Carbury  speak  in  that  interested  way  of 
Jack  Beverley,  even  although  she  could  no  longer 
believe  in  him.  What  a  pity  it  was  about  that  sus 
ceptibility  of  his  !  she  thought.  He  had  so  many 
good  points,  and  was  so  superior  to  all  the  other 
men  out  here  ! 

"What  are  you  two  ranting  about?"  broke  in 
Barney  at  this  moment.  "  Eileen,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  let  one  of  those  'grimmers'  [Barney's  name 
for  stern  officials]  talk  to  you.  You  are  awfully 
selfish." 

Tom  frowned.  "  Don't,  Barney  !  "  he  said,  "  your 
sister  has  been  only  too  good  to  me  in  letting  me 
keep  her  here  all  this  time ;  and  as  I  see  the  fair 
Strahan  making  her  adieus,  I  will  say  good-night  to 
Lady  Barney." 

"  '  Good-night,'  "  mocked  Barney ;  "  what  ails 
you,  Tommy  ?  Are  n't  you  going  to  stop  and  talk 
over  this  bewitching  evening  with  me  ?  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  about  a  lot  of  things." 

But  Philippa  motioned  to  Barney,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  go.  Carbury  hurried  away.  He  would 
not  stay  and  chatter  now.  He  was  a  lazy,  indif 
ferent  fellow,  but  only  from  habit ;  and  Eileen  had 
awakened  something  in  him  which  had  lain  asleep 
for  a  long  time.  He  was,  for  the  first  time  in  years, 
going  home  to  think.  If  a  personality  bore  a  promi 
nent  position  in  his  thinking,  the  thinking  in  itself 
was  a  great  advance. 


CHAFFER  VII. 

CILEEN  BEAUFORT  did  not  even  know  that 
*•"'  she  had  fascinated  Captain  Carbury,  —  particu 
larly,  that  is.  She  was  full  of  uncertainty  that  night, 
and  was  not  dreaming  of  conquest.  She  was 
ashamed  of  herself  for  being  piqued  with  Jack 
Beverley,  when,  as  she  repeatedly  said  to  herself, 
she  did  not  care  for  him,  and  did  not  mean  to 
marry  him,  of  course.  The  prospect  of  the  inter 
view  in  the  morning  was  rather  perplexing  to  her. 
"  Why  is  he  coming,"  she  said,  "  if  he  is  treating 
me  badly  ?  And  why  am  I  not  glad  he  has  deserted 
me?  Because  I  thought  he  was  the  first  true  man 
I  had  ever  seen,"  she  answered  herself.  "  There 
fore  I  must  needs  wish  him  for  a  footstool.  I 
wish  I  knew  what  I  did  want.  If  I  only  knew 
something^to  wish  for,  it  would  be  an  improvement." 
Eileen  leaned  her  head  wearily  against  the  sofa- 
cushion.  After  bidding  the  guests  good-night,  she 
had  sat  down  as  she  was  sitting  before. 

"  Will  you  ask  an  informal  lot  in  for  to-morrow 
night,  Philippa?"  Barney  asked,  coming  back  to 
the  drawing-room,  as  his  wife  was  disappearing. 
"  I  want  something  to  take  the  taste  of  this  out  of 
my  mouth.  The  Bedloes  and  Veseys  and  Brabazon, 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  8 1 

and  perhaps  Stanhope,  or  Beverley,  or  Jack.  Car- 
bury  is  a  good  fellow,  but  those  others  !  Oh,  why 
should  we  undergo  such  grinding  torments?  They 
don't  like  us  and  never  will;  and  as  for  you, 
Eileen—" 

Philippa  interrupted  him.  "  I  shall  ask  no  one," 
she  said  grimly.  •'  I  have  given  my  last  dinner  in 
Calcutta." 

Barney  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  "  Your  '  last 
dinner '  ! "  he  repeated.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
those  tragic  accents  and  that  solemn  phrase?  Are 
you  going  to  die?  " 

"  I  have  decided  not  to  entertain,"  replied  Phi 
lippa.  "  We  need  not  discuss  the  point.  Eileen, 
will  you  come  to  my  dressing-room?  " 

Barney's  eyes  positively  glared.  "  What  under 
the  sun  —  "  he  began,  and  stopped.  "  Neither  will 
I  discuss  the  point.  We  '11  eat  our  dinners,  and  ask 
our  friends  to  eat  our  dinners,  as  long  as  I  am  the 
master  of  this  house  !  " 

"Will  you  come,  Eileen?"  repeated  Philippa,  as 
if  she  heard  not. 

Barney  fairly  flung  himself  from  the  room  and 
into  the  veranda.  He  was  nearer  real  anger  than 
he  had  ever  been  in  his  life,  against  Philippa ;  and 
to  tell  the  truth,  it  was  a  sudden  turn  for  a  long- 
suffering  wife  of  seventeen  years'  standing  to  take. 

Eileen  followed  Philippa,  looking  a  little  scared. 
Was  a  crisis  coming  in  all  their  lives?  Philippa  sat 
down  before  her  dressing-glass  mechanically ;  and 
the  ayah,  her  ankle  and  arm  bangles  tinkling  as  she 
walked,  began  to  take  the  pins  from  her  mistress's 
6 


82  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

hair.  Philippa  looked  so  handsome,  so  regal  in  the 
candle-light,  the  red  roses  on  her  breast  giving  her 
a  flush,  her  eyes  bright  with  excitement,  her  lips 
quivering  with  the  effort  just  made,  —  for  Philippa 
was  at  heart  gentle,  —  that  Eileen  lay  on  the  flowered 
couch,  gazing  admiringly  at  her.  Neither  of  the 
women  spoke  until  Eileen,  slipping  from  the  couch, 
threw  herself  at  her  sister's  feet,  and  clasping  her 
knees,  looked  up  into  the  stern  face. 

"  Don't !  "  said  Philippa,  almost  crossly. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  asked  Eileen.  "What  has 
happened  to  trouble  you  to-day  ?  Tell  me  ;  let  me 
be  something  to  you." 

Philippa  had  not  known  of  Eileen's  inward  strug 
gles,  —  how  should  she  ?  Eileen,  always  wild  and 
incorrigible,  had  certainly  not  shown  much  desire 
for  self-improvement  that  evening.  Besides,  Phi 
lippa  was  just  then  too  much  engrossed  by  her  own 
misery  to  notice  any  change  in  Eileen.  Eileen 
was  always  sweet  and  affectionate  to  her,  or  usually 
so.  The  beautiful  face  looked  beseechingly  into  the 
face  which  had  once  been  beautiful,  and  an  implor 
ing  look  rilled  the  upturned  eyes.  "  If  only,"  she 
thought,  "while  I  am  in  this  mood,  I  can  be  of 
some  service  to  somebody  !  "  But  Philippa  was  too 
grimly  miserable  to  be  stirred  much,  even  by  Eileen's 
appealing  look.  There  was  nothing  to  say  about 
herself,  nothing  to  be  done.  Her  husband  had  sim 
ply  turned  out  —  turned  out  ?  he  had  always  been 
—  worthless.  It  was  not  an  original  grievance;  a 
great  many  husbands  had  done  the  same.  And 
there  was  nothing  picturesque  in  her  situation.  She 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  83 

was  not  young ;  nobody  cared  for  middle-aged  mis 
ery.  And  besides  she  had  not  called  Eileen  in  for 
that,  but  to  talk  seriously  to  the  girl  herself.  It 
was  hard  to  begin  with  that  girl,  already  melted  at 
her  feet.  It  was  impossible,  she  felt,  to  begin  as  she 
had  intended.  She  must  make  an  explanation  first ; 
so,  being  full  of  her  own  grievance,  she  glided  into  that. 

"  Eileen,"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  painful  effort, 
"  I  'm  sure  you  do  not  know  what  a  spendthrift 
Barney  is.  He  throws  away  every  penny  he  earns. 
He  is  over  head  and  ears  in  debt ;  he  does  nothing 
for  his  own  children,  and  that  is  why  I  will  give  no 
more  dinners.  You  see  that  I  am  right." 

"  Yes,"  said  Eileen,  softly.  "  Barney  cannot  help 
being  a  spendthrift,  —  we  are  all  so ;  but  we  can 
help  encouraging  him,  Philippa."  Here  she  laid  her 
small  hand  upon  the  other's,  and  spoke  abruptly, 
"  Am  I  a  worry  to  you  ?  " 

Philippa  turned  away  her  head.  Eileen  was  cer 
tainly  lovely,  and  so  innocent  in  her  sins  !  What 
should  she  say?  "Yes,  you  are,  Eileen,"  turning 
her  head,  that  she  might  not  see  the  other's  sweet 
face.  "  You  are  a  great  worry  to  me.  You  spend  a 
great  deal  of  money ;  you  flirt  like  a  school-girl,  and 
you  shock  people  horribly  with  your  wild  ways.  I 
speak  the  truth  to  you,  since  you  ask  it.  1  am 
beside  myself  sometimes  when  I  see  you,  and  know 
what  a  penniless  lot  we  are,  and  how  this  must  all 
sooner  or  later  end." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  go  away,  Philippa?"  Eileen 
asked,  her  eyes  full  of  glistening  tears,  some  of  sorrow 
and  some  of  anger. 


84  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

"  No ;  I  want  you  to  marry  Mr.  Warwick,"  an 
swered  Lady  Barney,  looking  full  at  Eileen,  who  hid 
her  head  in  the  folds  of  her  sister's  gown.  "  I  do 
not  ask  you  to  make  a  great  sacrifice  of  yourself. 
He  is  not  old ;  he  adores  you,  and  —  " 

"  I  do  not  love  him,"  said  Eileen,  in  a  low  tone, 
not  looking  up.  "  That  sounds  babyish,  I  suppose, 
and  is,  of  course,  nothing  in  the  way  of  my  marrying 
him."  There  was  something  unspeakably  sad  in 
the  world-worn  look  which  came  over  the  fresh 
young  face  at  these  words.  "But  the  trouble  is, 
I  like  him  very  much." 

"  There,"  said  Philippa,  brightening,  and  taking 
the  face  in  her  hand,  raising  it  in  spite  of  itself,  "  I 
knew  you  did  not  dislike  him.  Then  why  can  you 
not  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Eileen,  —  "  because  I  like  him 
very  much."  Then  after  a  pause  she  added,  "  If  I 
did  not  like  him,  I  might  marry  him." 

"  I  suppose  these  are  called  subtleties,"  said 
Philippa,  drawing  her  hand  away  and  shutting 
her  eyes  wearily.  "  I  confess  I  do  not  understand 
them." 

"  Philippa,"  said  Eileen,  resting  her  head  upon 
her  sister's  knee,  "  I  could  not  make  a  sacrifice ;  it 
would  be  impossible,  because  I  have  nothing  to  give 
up.  If  Mr.  Warwick  were  not  the  kind  of  man  he 
is,  I  would  agree  to  make  him  miserable,  for  your 
sake  and  Barney's.  I  have  no  conscience,  particu 
larly,  but  I  could  not  bestow  myself  upon  him  and 
see  his  life  ruined.  I  could  not,  indeed.  He  has 
been  too  kind  to  me.  I  will  write  him  the  truth,  if 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  85 

you  like ;  and  if  he  wants  me  under  such  circum 
stances  to  marry  him,  I  will  do  so." 

"Of  course,"  answered  Philippa,  "putting  it  in 
that  way  is  equivalent  to  refusing.  As  for  my  sake 
and  Barney's,  you  know  very  well  that  you  wrong 
me,  at  least,  when  you  say  that.  You  are  in  our 
charge,  and  it  has  come  to  this  that  we  cannot  look 
after  you  any  longer,  unless  you  will  help  yourself. 
Mr.  Warwick  came  to  see  me  to-day  about  you. 
He  says  you  fill  his  thoughts ;  he  cannot  give  up 
the  idea  of  possessing  you.  He  is  a  fine  man,  and 
not  a  parvenu  ;  he  is  well  enough  looking,  and  rich 
beyond  words,  and  he  will  make  you  a  perfect 
husband." 

"  That  comes  last,  of  course,"  said  Eileen,  with 
proud  disdain.  "  I  will  write  him,  Philippa,  but  I 
shall  tell  him  the  truth ;  and  if  he  wants  this  rare 
bargain,  he  may  have  it.  Perhaps  if  he  knew  it  was 
going  begging,  he  would  not  care  so  much  for  it. 
Still,  he  's  a  simple  soul,  and  his  liking  will  last.  I 
deserve  my  fate,  Philippa ;  I  shall  not  cry  out  against 
it.  I  know  I  have  led  a  selfish  life,  although  there 
has  been  precious  little  pleasure  in  it,  and  that  I 
have  made  myself."  Eileen  was  standing  now,  and 
moving  toward  the  door.  "  If  Mr.  Warwick  does 
not  want  me,"  she  said  wearily,  "  I  dare  say  I  can 
stay  here  until  papa  sends  me  money  enough  to 
take  me  to  Ireland." 

"Have  I  deserved  this?"  cried  Philippa,  seizing 
the  girl's  hand  and  drawing  her  back  by  main  force. 
"  I  cannot  sustain  you  in  luxury  any  more,  but  it  is 
only  because  I  cannot  sustain  myself  in  it.  My  last 


86  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

crust  is  yours,  Eileen,  and  you  know  it ;  but  an  end 
is  coming  to  the  crusts.  Some  change  has  got  to 
be  made,  and  I  am  thinking  of  you  entirely  when  I 
urge  your  marrying  a  man  who  will  look  after  you 
handsomely  to  the  end  of  your  days.  Do  you  think 
I  do  not  writhe  at  having  to  make  this  petty  wretched 
money  the  theme  of  my  whole  existence  ?  Do  you 
think  I  do  not  hate  the  pride  which  makes  it  impos 
sible  for  me  to  go  out  as  a  servant,  and  earn  my 
children's  bread  with  my  own  hands?" 

Was  this  Philippa?  Eileen  threw  her  arms  round 
Philippa's  neck,  in  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling.  She 
was  eager  to  seize  upon  the  favorable  moment ;  for  a 
glimpse  of  the  pent-up  woman  in  her  sister  had  never 
been  granted  her  before,  and  she  was  starving  for 
sympathy.  But  the  opportunity  fled.  The  haughty, 
self- repressed  Philippa  was  already  ashamed  of  her 
emotion,  and  with  an  almost  rough  movement  she 
disentangled  Eileen's  arms.  Eileen,  now  that  the 
vista  had  once  opened,  was  not  immediately  dis 
couraged,  however.  She  drew  Philippa  down  on 
the  couch,  to  sit  beside  her.  "Why  don't  you  talk 
seriously  to  Barney?  "  she  said  gently. 

"Talk  to  him  !  "  echoed  Philippa,  her  lip  curling. 
"  For  seventeen  years,  it  seems  to  me,  I  have  done 
nothing  but  talk  to  Barney;  and  I  have  told  him 
that  he  is  ruining  his  children's  lives  and  his  own, 
not  to  speak  of  the  trifling  circumstance  of  breaking 
my  heart.  He  does  n't  care,  Eileen.  He  loves  you, 
I  think,  —  not  to  the  extent  of  making  any  sacrifice 
for  you,  perhaps, — but  his  affection  for  you  is  greater 
than  anything  he  feels.  I  simply  fret  and  bore  him, 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  8^ 

because  I  can  no  longer  laugh  at  follies  which  in  a 
man  of  his  age  are  crimes.  It  is  a  vital  point  with 
me,  and  a  stupendous  joke  with  him,  that  our  chil 
dren  have  no  dependence  upon  their  parents,  and 
that  we  are  disgracefully  in  debt.  If  Barney  were 
to  come  into  one  large  fortune  to  make  ducks  and 
drakes  of,  and  another  were  tied  up  for  me  and  the 
children,  we  might  live  bearably  while  his  held  out. 
There  is  no  use  in  saying  all  this  to  you,  Eileen, 
except  as  an  explanation  of  what  you  think  is  ex 
treme  harshness  to  you." 

"  Never  mind  me  !  "  cried  Eileen.  "  Barney 
does  love  you;  he  does,  he  does,"  she  exclaimed. 
"You  shall  not  say  that.  He  was  born  careless, 
brought  up  carelessly,  and  will  die  careless.  My 
father  is  the  same ;  I  am  the  same ;  Terence  and 
Ulick  are  the  same.  Barney  should  never  have 
married.  I  've  often  heard  papa  say  so.  Philippa,  I 
shall  speak  to  him.  He  does  not  realize  what  he  is 
doing,  and  perhaps  if  I  let  him  see  that  I  know  —  " 

Philippa  recited  the  episode  of  the  fourteen  hun 
dred  rupees  to  Eileen.  "  What  do  you  think  now?  " 
she  said.  "  Will  talking  do  good  to  such  a  man  ? 
No,  Eileen,  I  shall  make  no  more  pleas,  certainly 
none  through  you.  You  'd  better  go  to  bed  now. 
You  have  your  future  in  your  own  hands,  and  if  you 
do  not  choose  to  take  it,  I  shall  say  nothing  more. 
I  'm  sorry  to  have  been  betrayed  into  so  much  vul 
gar  temper."  And  she  held  out  her  hand  in  her 
usual  formal  fashion.  Eileen  went  so  far  as  to  kiss 
the  cold  cheek  timidly.  She  did  not  dare  attempt 
to  make  a  further  demonstration.  No  one  could 


88  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

pierce  that  icy  coating,  when  the  surface  had  frozen 
over. 

Eileen  went  downstairs  and  found  Barney  in  the 
dining-room,  smoking  and  playing  Patience.  A  long 
tumbler  of  whiskey  and  soda  was  beside  him,  and  his 
anger  was  apparently  appeased,  for  he  looked  up  at 
Eileen  and  laughed.  "Well,"  he  said,  "it's  dull 
times  for  the  old  man,  when  he  has  to  make  shift 
with  himself  for  a  partner.  I  say,  Eileen,  what  did 
Flip  want  of  you?  By  Jove,  what  a  mood  that 
woman  's  been  in  to-day  !  It 's  more  than  flesh 
and  blood  can  stand." 

Eileen  smiled,  but  faintly.  She  had  been  too 
long  on  rollicking  terms  with  Barney  to  change  her 
base  suddenly ;  yet  a  solemn  purpose  was  firing  her. 
She  laid  her  hand  upon  her  brother's  arm.  "  Come 
up  in  the  veranda,  Barney,  out  into  the  air.  I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

"  Talk  !  Let 's  not  talk ;  I  'm  tired  of  talk.  Let 's 
play  dcartd,  if  we  do  anything." 

"  Come  !  "  said  Eileen.  Her  face  was  so  earnest 
that  Barney  looked  up  into  it  with  a  kind  of  comic 
gravity,  like  a  monkey. 

"  Whatever 's  up?  "  he  asked.  "Tears,  as  I  live, 
in  the  girl's  eyes,  and  such  a  scarey,  scolding  face  ! 
And  Philippa  in  a  grand,  stagey,  Lady  Macbeth 
temper  !  I  know  what 's  the  matter  with  her ;  she  '11 
be  all  right  after  a  night's  sleep.  But  this  bonny 
little  thing  in  its  sulks  !  Faith,  I  don't  know  what 
to  make  of  that !  " 

"  Don't,  Barney  !  "  said  Eileen,  really  distressed. 
This  sort  of  thing  was  so  new  to  her  and  so  thor- 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  89 

oughly  out  of  her  line  !  And  she  did  love  Barney, 
and  alas  !  was  so  in  sympathy  with  him. 

"  Don't  scold  me  if  I  go  with  you,  will  you  ?  " 
said  Barney,  getting  up  and  yawning,  yet  gazing  at 
her  in  mock  supplication. 

"  Come  !  "  she  said.  After  all,  how  much  more 
agreeable  and  amusing  the  bad  ones  are  than  the 
good,  thought  this  naughty  person.  She  did  not 
realize  at  the  moment  that  there  would  be  no 
danger  in  them  if  they  were  not.  Satan  in 
horns  and  hoofs  would  repel  at  once.  It  is  Satan 
in  cap  and  bells  and  in  wreathed  smiles  who 
fascinates. 

When  they  were  seated,  or  recumbent  rather, 
on  lounging-chairs,  and  Barney  had  had  his  peg  re 
plenished,  and  a  fresh  cheroot  had  been  lighted, 
Eileen  cleared  her  throat  ominously. 

"  Gracious  !  "  ejaculated  Barney,  turning  to  look 
at  her.  "A  sermon  !  " 

But  the  long  chair  was  not  suited  to  Eileen's  pur 
pose.  She  could  never  be  severe  in  that  attitude. 
So  she  got  up  and  sat  in  a  straighter  one.  "  Bar 
ney,"  said  she  finally,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  do 
you  know  that  you  are  ruining  nine  lives  by  your 
course?"  Eileen  meant  his  own  life,  and  his 
wife's,  and  those  of  their  seven  children ;  but  it  was 
an  unfortunate  beginning. 

Barney  burst  into  a  loud  peal  of  laughter,  which 
stung  Philippa,  grieving  in  her  chamber. 

"  Am  I  a  cat  then?  "  he  asked.  "  I  have  broken 
nine  bones  in  my  body  steeple-chasing,  but  each  of 
those  was  not  a  life,  was  it?  What  are  you  talking 


90  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

about,  stupid   little  girl,    eh?"      And  he   laughed 
again  and  looked  wonderingly  at  Eileen. 

"  You  have  seven  children,"  said  Eileen,  slightly 
daunted  by  her  false  step.  "  You  have  not  forgotten 
their  number,  I  suppose?  and  you  have  Philippa, 
and  you  have  yourself." 

"  And  I  have  you,"  broke  in  Barney,  still  gazing 
at  Eileen  with  a  look  in  which  curiosity  and  disdain 
were  equally  mingled ;  "  and  faith,  I  'm  afraid  I 
sha'n't  have  you  long,  for  your  reason  seems  to  be 
tottering." 

"  You  are  making  every  one  of  those  lives 
wretched,  indeed  you  are,  Barney,"  Eileen  went 
on,  ignoring  the  interruption. 

Barney  laughed  nervously.  It  was  not  very  amus 
ing,  for  all  that.  "  Now,  my  girl,"  he  said,  sitting 
up  and  looking  full  at  Eileen,  "  I  understand  this 
whole  affair.  You  are  primed.  Philippa 's  been 
coaching  you.  There  's  something  the  matter  with 
her,  and  she  must  needs  contaminate  you.  I  never 
saw  two  women  so  changed.  You  need  n't  say  any 
more,  Eileen,  —  no,  not  one  word  !  "  for  Eileen's  lips 
were  beginning  to  move.  "  I  've  had  enough  of  hy 
sterical  women  for  one  bout.  Only  remember  this  : 
I  'm  not  to  be  meddled  with,  nor  advised  by  chil 
dren  like  you ;  so  go  to  bed  and  take  that  to  your 
heart  and  keep  it."  And  Barney  stalked  angrily 
through  the  long  drawing-room,  down  the  stairway 
and  out. 

Eileen  stood  for  a  few  minutes,  gazing  into  the 
soft  starry  night.  The  perfumes  of  citron  and 
orange  oppressed  her,  and  the  sweet-scented  jasmine 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  gi 

was  stifling.  She  had  not  made  much  by  her 
somewhat  theatrical  move,  but  even  that  was  not 
troubling  her  most.  She  did  go  to  bed  at  last,  but  it 
was  not  Philippa  nor  Barney  nor  Mr.  Warwick  who 
haunted  her  dreams.  Through  them  all  she  saw, 
first  in  one  face  and  then  in  another,  but  always 
gazing  reproachfully  at  her,  the  great  dark  eyes  of 
Jack  Beverley. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

\  WOMAN  who  can  be  described  in  a  few  words 
**•  is  not  worth  describing.  If  her  complexities 
blend  and  infuse  so  harmoniously  —  like  the  primary 
colors  —  as  to  make  what  we  call  simplicity,  —  the 
white  of  the  spectrum,  —  she  is  the  most  artistic,  the 
most  successful  artistically  of  beings,  also  the  most 
womanly.  If  she  is  simple,  actually,  —  that  is  to  say, 
either  blue  or  green,  or  violet  or  red,  —  she  may  be 
pretty  and  sweet  and  lovable,  or  horrid,  ungainly, 
peevish,  but  she  will  not  be  worth  much  as  a  study. 
I  doubt  if  a  book  could  be  written  about  her.  And 
the  question  is,  Would  she  be  a  real  woman?  The 
height  of  simplicity  is  the  concealment  of  art.  Jack 
Beverley  was  simple,  or  rather,  simplex ;  he  never 
could  have  been  a  hero  by  himself,  in  our  modern 
acceptation  of  the  word. 

I  have  read  lately  that  the  mysteriousness  of  the 
soft  sex  is  a  tradition  only ;  and  that  women  are  as 
easy  to  understand  as  men  (honest  creatures  !),  if 
only  one  did  not  blind  one's  capability  of  understand 
ing  them  by  presupposing  them  to  be  darkly  complex. 
These  opinions,  coming  from  one  of  our  keenest  pens, 
made  a  decided  impression ;  but  that  impression  was 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS. 


93 


shortly  afterward  blurred  by  reading  a  story  of 
the  same  writer's  into  which  he  introduces  women 
most  irrelevant  and  unreasoning,  —  the  most  femi 
nine  of  their  sex,  in  short,  —  and  makes  remarks 
about  them  like  these :  "  Who  knows  what  is  in  a 
woman  ?  How  many  moods  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ? 
And  which  is  the  characteristic  one  ?  "  His  first 
utterances  were  in  the  nature  of  an  essay ;  his  story 
was  life.  Woman  is  complex  and  contradictory; 
and  everybody  who  knows  anything,  knows  that. 

My  heroine,  Lady  Eileen  Beaufort,  fulfilled  these 
requisites  of  complexness  and  contradictoriness  in  a 
supreme  degree.  She  herself  went  so  far  as  to  say 
that  she  woke  up  in  the  morning  with  an  entirely 
new  set  of  traits  from  those  she  had  taken  to  bed 
with  her  the  night  before ;  and  I  go  so  far  as  to  be 
lieve  that  the  old  ones  were  obscured  for  the  time 
being. 

A  great  many  things  had  occurred  in  Eileen's 
life  to  form  strengths  in  her  character.  The  powers 
were  working  in  the  dark,  and  the  "  splendid  pat 
tern  "  that  they  wove  "  their  wistful  hands  between," 
had  as  yet  taken  on  neither  form  nor  semblance. 
Throw  an  arithmetic  and  a  grammar  and  a  geography 
at  a  child's  head,  and  keep  on  pelting  him  with  books 
of  learning,  and  I  doubt  if  he  will  come  out  edu 
cated.  Eileen  had  never  learned  her  alphabet  yet. 
The  lessons  of  life  had  all  been  hurled  at  her; 
she  had  not  slowly  assimilated  or  digested  one. 
She  had  never  yet  known  the  desire  to  know,  which 
is  the  A  B  C  of  acquirement. 

Eileen  had  tumbled  up  in  Ireland ;  her  childhood 


94  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

had  been  lawless  and  wild.  She  had  broken  in 
horses  principally,  and  had  been  indulged  to  ex 
cess  by  a  doting  father  and  adoring  brothers.  (Bar 
ney  had  married  when  she  was  a  small  child,  and 
her  mother  had  died  at  her  birth.)  An  aunt  in 
London  provided  conventional  gowns  three  or  four 
times  a  year,  so  that  Eileen  was  fashionably  at 
tired  without  knowing  it,  and  at  eighteen  she  was 
sent  to  the  aunt  for  a  season  in  London.  The  sea 
son  had  been  short  and  severe.  Captain  Beaufort  — 
the  fastest  man  in  England,  and  the  wickedest  —  had 
fallen  —  pitched  headlong  into  the  most  desperate 
kind  of  so-called  love  (why  is  our  vocabulary,  rich 
in  unnecessary  nomenclature,  so  poor  here?)  ;  at  all 
events,  an  excellent  imitation  of  that  much  abused 
passion,  more  like  the  original  than  the  original  it 
self,  transfiguring  himself  temporarily  and  envelop 
ing  its  object.  It  might  have  burned  itself  out 
in  a  short  time,  this  white  heat,  or  cooled,  so  that 
one  could  have  discerned  the  real  metal,  had  not 
the  anxious  aunt  —  anxious  with  a  cause,  poor  soul ! 
—  telegraphed  the  alarming  condition  of  things  to 
Lord  Mungerford,  the  father,  who  came  speeding 
down  from  Tipperary ;  and  Barney  and  Philippa, 
who  were  luckily  just  departing  for  Calcutta,  bore 
the  girl  secretly  from  the  very  jaws  of  the  feverish 
Captain. 

Eileen,  who  was  more  overwhelmed  than  con 
quered  by  the  Captain's  mad  wooing,  made  the 
best  of  her  position,  and  took  to  the  gay  life  in 
India  as  a  duck  takes  to  the  water.  She  was  mak 
ing  conquests  by  the  score,  when  Beaufort  —  whom 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  95 

Overland  Routes  could  not  daunt,  nor  P.  &  O. 
steamships  destroy —  appeared  in  Calcutta,  and, 
fair  means  failing,  resorted  to  foul,  and  absolutely 
forced  Eileen  to  elope  with  him.  He  was  cashiered 
the  army  for  gambling;  his  passion  burned  itself 
out;  he  brought  every  kind  of  disgrace  upon  his 
young  wife.  Disgrace  could  not  taint  her  nature, 
however,  for  she  did  not  perceive  it.  She  did  not 
know,  far  away  in  a  small  watering-place  on  the 
Continent,  that  her  husband  was  suspected  and  dis 
honored,  for  they  were  living  among  people  who 
had  no  right  to  enlighten  her.  She  accepted  her 
fate,  not  meekly,  but  with  airy  fortitude,  and  thought 
she  was  learning  the  lesson  of  life.  Yet  her  true 
nature  was  never  touched.  It  remained  gay  and 
light  and  sound  and  sweet  after  a  year  of  horrible 
discomfort.  When  she  discovered  that  her  husband 
loved  nothing  but  drink  and  dice,  she  was  relieved 
rather  as  regarded  herself,  because  she  felt  she 
owed  him  small  duty  in  the  way  of  wifely  affec 
tion.  When  Beaufort  was  killed  in  a  bout,  —  an 
orgy  of  three  days  ending  in  a  fight,  —  Eileen  was 
terrified  and  anguished  much  as  a  child  might  be ; 
and  although  for  years  she  could  not  shut  out  cer 
tain  terrible  sights  with  which  that  season  was  filled, 
little  of  the  truth  reached  her,  through  the  kindness 
of  those  whose  hearts  she  had  won,  and  her  father's 
coming  and  seizing  her  from  her  surroundings  be 
fore  she  had  time  to  realize  the  facts.  It  all  seemed 
like  a  figment  of  a  disordered  dream. 

Eileen  stayed  with  her  father  in  Ireland  for  two 
or  three  years.     She  had  become  more  serious  and 


96  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

sober,  and  read  a  good  deal,  and  imbibed  some 
cynicism,  but  was  otherwise  outwardly  not  much 
changed.  In  three  years  Lord  Mungerford  felt 
that  the  affair  had  blown  over,  and  that  Eileen, 
with  her  bitter  experience  in  mind,  might  be  trusted 
to  see  the  world  again  and  to  make  a  wiser  choice. 
But  the  aunt  would  have  none  of  her.  The  wild 
alarm  and  frightful  anxiety  of  Eileen's  first  season 
would  never  "blow -over"  with  her,  and  she  de 
clined  gently,  but  firmly,  to  become  a  raving  maniac 
again,  for  anybody's  sake.  So  Eileen  stayed  in  Lon 
don  at  Philippa's  father's  house  in  Eccleston  Square, 
"  looking  after "  Barney's  children,  she  said,  and 
"  trying  to  feel  that  she  was  of  some  use  in  the 
world." 

Eileen  was  a  little  wild  yet  for  a  perfect  guide  to 
the  young ;  and  the  boys  somehow  were  engaged  in 
more  escapades  than  they  had  ever  indulged  in  in  their 
lives  before,  and  in  fewer  elevating  pursuits.  Young 
Barney,  at  this  period,  lured  a  London  cabby  from 
his  box,  and  seizing  the  reins,  drove  wildly  through 
the  crowded  streets,  bringing  up  ignominiously  against 
a  lamp-post  and  smashing  twenty  pounds'  worth  of 
property.  He  was  horsewhipped  by  the  frenzied 
cabman,  too,  and  cursed  loudly  on  the  public  high 
way;  and  as  his  grandfather  had  the  mortification 
of  his  disgrace  to  bear,  and  also  the  annoyance  of 
disbursement,  Eileen,  who,  she  herself  now  nobly 
allowed,  had  in  a  moment  of  impulse  suggested  the 
wild  step  to  the  boy,  was  voted  by  the  old  Earl, 
not  unnaturally,  to  be  an  improper  adviser  for 
his  grandson. 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  97 

The  old  gentleman  wrote  Philippa  that  she  was 
impossible.  "What  is  to  become  of  her,  I  don't 
know.  The  bogs  of  Ireland  are  the  only  place  for 
her.  She  is  so  pretty  and  so  girlish,  so  amiable  too, 
except  for  a  peppery  spirit,  which  burns  itself  out  in 
two  or  three  wild  flickers,  that  it  is  extremely  hard  to 
be  severe  with  her.  I  confess  myself  wholly  unequal 
to  the  task  of  managing  her,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  I  can 
not  see  my  own  responsibility  in  the  matter.  Hav 
ing  been  married,  she  cannot  be  disciplined  or  even 
chaperoned  ;  and  her  widowhood  is  the  most  incon 
gruous  thing  about  her.  She  is  a  kind  of  monstrosity 
viewed  in  that  light,  for  anybody  so  distinctly  un- 
widowed  I  never  have  seen.  She  is  very  gay  at 
dinners  and  At  Homes  and  balls  now,  and  of  course 
her  career  is  canvassed  everywhere,  —  particularly  I 
have  no  doubt  at  those  cankers  of  civilization  known 
as  luncheon-parties.  It  is  not  very  agreeable  having 
her  affairs  raked  up  again,  and  it  will  be  hard  for  her 
to  marry  well  here,  in  spite  of  her  beauty,  with  such 
a  record.  Barney  and  Ulick  madly  love  her,  but 
she  is  not  a  safe  companion  for  them.  Don't  you 
think  it  would  be  better  for  Barney  to  write  his 
father  to  take  her  home?  I  can't  suggest  it  very 
well.  Dear,  dear  !  " 

Philippa  told  Barney,  of  course  ;  and  Barney  im 
mediately  insisted  upon  having  her  out  in  India 
again.  This  was  how  she  came  to  be  there  a 
second  time. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

O  fascinate  was  Eileen's  fate.  She  had  rare 
charms  of  person,  of  bearing,  and  of  manner ; 
she  was  bursting  with  spirits,  which  nothing  could 
extinguish,  it  seemed.  Philippa's  position  went  far 
toward  reinstating  Eileen's.  Everybody  in  Cal 
cutta  bowed  at  Philippa's  shrine,  and  society  there  is 
so  migratory  that  after  three  or  four  years  there  were 
not  many  who  knew  personally  of  Eileen's  past. 
Philippa's  conscience  had  never  ceased  to  prick  her 
for  the  negligence  of  which  the  men  —  her  father 
and  brothers  —  had  been  guilty  toward  the  only  girl 
in  the  Winterford  family ;  and  she  honestly  tried 
to  do  her  duty  by  Eileen,  as  she  conceived  it.  But 
her  duty,  as  she  conceived  it,  was  not  to  teach  or 
to  tame  or  to  employ  the  strange  nature,  which, 
to  tell  the  truth,  she  but  dimly  understood,  but  to 
marry  it  off  to  a  rich  man  with  the  greatest  possible 
speed. 

The  morning  after  Eileen  had  promised  Philippa 
to  write  Mr.  Warwick,  she  had  remained  in  her 
room,  and  had  seen  nobody.  She  expected  Jack 
Beverley,  as  we  know.  That  interview  would  not 
alter  the  state  of  the  case  now.  She  was  to  marry 
Mr.  Warwick,  if  he  would  take  her  on  the  terms  she 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


99 


offered.  She  had  already  refused  him  three  times, 
and  the  last  time  he  had  gone  away  promising  never 
to  trouble  her  again.  Now  she  would  trouble  him. 
Eileen  was  not  yet  safely  started  on  the  right  road ; 
but  she  was  earnest  and  sincere  this  time  on  the 
wrong  one.  She  wrote  :  — 

MY  DEAR  MR.  WARWICK,  —  You  will  be  surprised 
at  this  note.  It  is  going  to  be  a  strange  one,  and  I 
may  not  be  able  to  express  myself  at  all.  I  like  you 
very  much,  although  I  do  not,  and  never  can,  love  you. 
Will  you  take  me  for  your  wife  under  those  conditions  ? 
I  ought  to  tell  you,  of  course,  that  my  reason  for  chang 
ing  my  mind  is  a  financial  one.  That  sounds  and 
looks  so  base  that  I  hardly  dare  send  such  insolence 
to  a  man  like  yourself.  Alas  !  it  is  true.  I  await  your 
reply. 

Yours,  in  all  candor,  EILEEN  BEAUFORT. 

The  answer  came,  long  before  Eileen  expected  it, 
in  the  person  of  Mr.  Warwick  himself,  —  pale  as  a 
ghost,  with  sad  eyes  and  trembling  lips.  He  was 
hurt,  cut  to  the  quick ;  but  his  love  for  Eileen  was 
so  great  that  it  was  not  even  affected  by  the  indig 
nity  put  upon  him.  He  was  a  good,  honest,  middle- 
class  Englishman,  —  a  man  who  had  made  his  fortune 
in  banking,  and  who  had  never  been  unscrupulous. 
He  was  considered  a  great  catch  by  the  mothers  of 
the  nobility  even ;  was  rather  handsome,  very  digni 
fied,  a  little  bald,  and  a  little  inclined  to  be  stout. 

Eileen  drew  aside  the  red  curtain  of  her  boudoir, 
and  came  into  the  drawing-room  with  a  faltering 
step.  A  realizing  sense  of  her  presumption  now 
overwhelmed  her.  She  had  been  impulsive  and 
had  given  way  to  her  impulses  so  long  that  she 


100  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

could  hardly  grasp  the  situation  even  now,  —  that  she 
had  insulted  a  man  who  had  offered  her  his  best, 
his  all,  and  that  she  was  in  his  presence.  She  hesi 
tated  in  the  doorway,  not  daring  to  advance.  Her 
eyes  were  cast  down,  her  face  was  bright  crimson. 

Mr.  Warwick  felt  his  heart  bound  and  rebound, 
and  then  sink  like  lead  into  an  abyss  from  which  it 
could  never  be  recalled  ;  but  he  went  quickly  to  her, 
and  led  her  gently  to  a  seat.  She  did  not  look  at 
him.  Mr.  Warwick  tried  to  speak.  "  What  did  you 
think  I  would  do  ?  "  he  asked  huskily.  "  Did  you 
think  I  loved  you  so  little  that  I  would  accept  your 
sacrifice,  and  see  you  pine  and  die  in  your  chains?  " 
(If  she  thought  he  would  refuse,  then  why  subject 
herself  to  this  humiliation?) 

Eileen  sank  on  the  floor,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  "You  said  last  week,"  she  mur 
mured,  "  that  whether  I  loved  you  or  liked  you  or 
hated  you  or  were  indifferent  to  you,  you  wanted 
to  marry  me.  You  said  that  to  see  me  was  joy 
enough.  I  told  you  I  did  not  love  you ;  you  said 
that  was  no  matter,  if  I  loved  no  one  else." 

Mr.  Warwick  smiled  bitterly.  "  I  did  say  all  that ; 
I  meant  it.  But  I  did  not  want  you  to  marry  me 
for  financial  reasons  alone." 

There  could  be  no  other,  Eileen  was  on  the  point 
of  saying;  but  she  checked  herself,  and  put  it  in 
another  way  quite  as  insulting.  "  If  I  had  yielded 
then,  what  would  have  been  my  reason  ? "  she 
asked,  taking  courage  and  removing  her  hand,  yet 
still  looking  down.  She  might  as  well  make  herself 
as  bad  as  she  could.  "  1  said  I  did  not  love  you, 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  IOI 

I  said  I  did  not  wish  to  marry  you.  You  kept  on 
urging  me.  If  I  had  yielded,  what  would  have 
been  the  reason?" 

Mr.  Warwick  smiled  sadly.  "  I  fancied,"  he  said, 
not  without  a  touch  of  pride,  "  that  my  devotion 
might  have  gone  for  something ;  but  I  was  wrong, 
of  course.  I  thought  I  might  teach  you  to  love  me 
in  time." 

"  No,"  burst  in  Eileen ;  "  it  is  all  nonsense  to  be 
lieve  that  love  comes  after  marriage.  I  am  poor 
and  have  lived  long  enough  upon  my  family,  which 
is  poorer  than  I.  I  might  help  them  and  you,  and 
lead  a  useful,  perhaps  a  happy  life.  But  if  I  have 
mortally  offended  you,  and  I  know  I  must  have 
done  so  —  " 

Mr.  Warwick  stooped  and  lifted  her  to  his  side. 
"  Oh,  my  child,"  he  said,  "  my  child,  I  do  love  you 
so,  and  I  did  long  to  guide  that  flaming  spirit  of 
yours  !  But  I  am  using  all  my  strength  now  to 
thrust  you  away  from  me.  I  would  not  let  you 
marry  for  money  alone,  my  child ;  it  is  an  awful 
fate.  I  wish  I  could  give  you  my  whole  fortune, 
and  see  you  enjoy  it ;  but  that,  in  this  censorious 
world  of  ours,  would  not  do.  You  must  promise  to  let 
me  know  if  you  are  ever  in  need  of  anything  ;  and  if 
there  is  something  I  can  do  now,  perhaps  —  "  Eileen 
shuddered.  "  I  believe  there  is  difference  enough 
in  our  ages  for  me  to  do  it  without  comment." 

Eileen  grasped  his  hand,  and  pressed  it ;  but  she 
shook  with  shame  all  the  time,  and  not  once  had 
she  lifted  her  eyes  to  Mr.  Warwick's.  "  Why  can't 
I  love  him?  "  she  thought.  "  He  is  the  best  man  I 


102  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

have  ever  seen.  I  don't  believe  I  have  ever  seen 
a  really  unselfish  one  before."  Suddenly,  and  like 
the  bursting  of  flame,  she  looked  up  into  Mr.  War 
wick's  face.  "  Perhaps  I  can  love  you  !  "  she  said 
joyously.  "  I  think  I  feel  it  coming.  I  never  liked 
you  so  much,  certainly." 

Mr.  Warwick  flushed  with  pain,  and  tears  came 
into  his  eyes.  "  Dearest  girl !  "  he  said,  and  thrust 
her  gently  from  him.  He  could  not  bear  the  strain 
another  moment.  It  was  harder  every  instant  to 
give  up  this  extraordinary  treasure.  Once  he  turned 
after  he  had  started  to  go,  and  kneeling,  kissed  her 
hands ;  then  he  walked  quickly  away. 

Eileen  sat  dazed.  To  her  this  man  would  always 
appear  with  a  halo  round  his  head.  And  she  —  she, 
worthless  coquette,  she  said,  could  not  love  this 
saint ;  and  Barney  had  contemptuously  called  him  a 
"  business  man  "  ! 

At  last  Eileen  got  up  wearily,  and  crossing  the 
drawing-room,  tapped  at  Philippa's  door.  The  bad 
things  might  as  well  all  be  got  over  at  once  now. 
The  next  in  order  was  to  tell  Philippa  of  this  inter 
view,  and  after  that  to  go  through  an  equally  painful 
one  with  Jack  Beverley,  who,  strange  to  say,  although 
it  was  twelve  o'clock,  had  not  yet  come ;  for 
whether  he  asked  her  to  marry  him  or  not,  she 
could  not  help  remembering  with  pangs  the  words 
of  the  Colonel  his  father. 

Philippa  opened  the  door  herself.  She  was  very 
pale,  and  held  a  note  in  her  hand.  The  note  was 
from  Barney,  and  announced  that  he  had  gone  pig 
sticking,  and  had  no  idea  when  he  should  be  back,  — 


THE  BEVERLEYS,  103 

perhaps  in  a  week,  perhaps  not  for  a  month  !  He 
hoped  he  should  find  some  rational  comfort  in 
his  family  when  he  came  back;  and  when  their 
senses  had  returned,  they  might  pen  him  a  line 
(giving  a  remote  address).  He  was  sure  to  do  or 
say  something  disagreeable  if  he  stayed  now,  as  he 
was  much  annoyed  ;  so  he  took  himself  off. 

Philippa  took  the  note  back  from  Eileen's  limp 
hand  when  she  had  read  it.  She  did  not  speak. 

"  It 's  a  joke,  of  course,"  said  Eileen,  —  "a  ghastly 
one,  but  still  a  joke.  Have  you  asked  the  servants  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Philippa,  "  it  was  not  necessary  to 
do  that.  I  knew  he  was  about  something.  The 
bearers  were  stirring  all  night  downstairs,  and  Bar 
ney  too,  I  dare  say.  I  have  not  seen  him  at  all. 
I  heard  him  drive  off  this  morning  too." 

They  stood,  the  two  women,  for  some  time  with 
out  a  sound.  Finally  Philippa  turned  to  leave  the 
room.  She  spoke  over  her  shoulder.  "  You  've  had 
Mr.  Warwick  here?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  answered  Eileen,  "he  has  been  here.  I 
asked  him  to  marry  me,  and  he  refused."  Eileen 
was  ashamed  of  her  flippant  tone,  but  she  did  not 
know  really  how  to  express  herself. 

"You  put  it,  no  doubt,  on  the  ground  of  our 
poverty?"  sneered  Philippa,  turning  half  round  and 
glaring  angrily  at  Eileen. 

"  No,  dear,"  said  Eileen,  gently,  throwing  her 
arms  around  Philippa's  neck,  "  but  on  the  ground  of 
my  own.  I  could  not  do  otherwise." 

"  Knowing,  of  course,"  retorted  the  almost  dis 
tracted  woman,  "  that  there  was  nothing  for  him  to 


104  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

do,  but  to  '  refuse '  you,  as  you  coarsely  express  it. 
One  more  of  your  unconventional,  extraordinary 
performances  ;  that 's  all.  I  can  imagine  just  how 
dramatic  and  ridiculous  you  made  yourself."  And 
Philippa,  who  had  shaken  off  Eileen's  arms  at  the 
beginning  of  her  speech,  beside  herself  at  her  own 
troubles,  and  only  too  glad  of  an  excuse  to  be 
violently  angry  with  somebody,  dashed  into  her 
bedroom. 

Events  were  happening  with  a  rush  in  the  Winter- 
ford  family.  Eileen  was  beginning  to  live ;  and  life 
so  far  was  frightfully  unpleasant. 


CHAPTER  X. 

HPHE  following  week  Philippa  spent  in  preparing 
•*•  for  a  voyage  to  England,  —  home,  —  never  to 
come  back  any  more.  This  last  act  of  Barney's  had 
driven  her  to  a  decided  step.  It  was  so  cowardly, 
so  cruel,  that  she  seemed  to  find  no  vestige  of  man 
liness  in  him ;  and  she  could  not,  would  not,  feel 
herself  bound  to  stand  by  him  any  longer.  The 
preparations  were  made  quietly,  and  even  Eileen 
was  not  told. 

Everything  but  Philippa' s  own  personal  belongings 
was  to  be  left,  so  that  there  was  not  much  bustle 
necessary.  "  Why  should  I  trouble  myself  to  look 
after  things ?"  said  Philippa.  "Let  the  master  of 
the  house  attend  to  his  own  affairs.  I  have  done." 
She  even  felt  a  kind  of  malicious  glee  in  wondering 
how  a  man  who  had  never  had  one  domestic  care 
in  his  life  would  manage  under  the  circumstances. 

Of  course,  Philippa's  conscience  pricked  her  about 
Eileen.  It  seemed  cruel  to  leave  her  behind,  and 
still  more  cruel  not  to  tell  her;  but  Philippa  was 
transformed,  distorted  by  her  wrongs.  She  saw 
everything  with  lurid,  savage  eyes.  Barney  had 
never  in  his  life  done  this  kind  of  thing  before. 
With  all  his  carelessness  and  extravagance,  he  had 


106  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

never  been  brutal  to  her  personally.  Now  he  had 
gone  away,  for  no  one  knew  how  long,  leaving 
her  absolutely  without  money  and  with  perplexing 
financial  difficulties.  Philippa  had  no  intimate 
friends  in  Calcutta,  and  she  would  appeal  to  no 
one.  She  sent  her  own  brougham  and  country- 
bred  horse  to  the  stables,  and  the  price  they  fetched 
would  pay  her  passage  home  to  England.  She 
paid  visits,  went  out  to  luncheon,  drove,  chatted  as 
always,  and  preserved  a  proud  equanimity.  She 
did  not  mention  the  coming  trip,  for  fear  Eileen, 
and  perhaps  Barney,  indirectly  should  hear  of  it. 
After  she  had  gone,  it  mattered  not  what  people 
said ;  she  should  never,  never  see  India  again,  and 
Barney  might  bear  the  brunt  of  gossip.  It  was  high 
time  he  bore  something. 

It  was  difficult  to  know  what  Barney's  thoughts 
were  at  this  crisis,  or  if  he  had  any.  After  seven 
teen  years  of  absolute,  colt-like  freedom,  a  man 
could  hardly  be  brought  up  with  a  tight  rein  and  a 
stiff  harness  in  a  minute.  He  chafed  and  champed, 
I  may  say,  at  such  a  sudden  and  unexpected  round 
turn.  He  had  always  done  what  he  liked ;  and  Phi 
lippa,  although  she  had  never  gone  so  far  as  to  like 
it  too,  had  borne  what  he  chose  to  do.  Why  had 
she  not  taken  this  stand  when  they  were  first  mar 
ried  ?  "  Egad  !  if  she  had,  she  never  would  have 
come  out  of  England  with  me  !  "  thought  Barney, 
chuckling  at  his  own  savage  pleasantry,  She  had 
never  had  any  money ;  neither  had  he.  What  did 
she  want  money  for?  She  had  always  been  clothed 
rather  expensively,  had  lived  in  rather  handsome 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  107 

houses,  had  given  and  eaten  good  dinners,  had 
plenty  of  friends.  Debts  need  not  worry  her ;  he 
had  to  bear  the  brunt  of  those.  On  the  whole,  he 
began  to  feel  that  he  had  given  his  wife  a  pretty 
easy  time,  as  times  go.  It  was  degrading,  of  course, 
to  talk  so  much  and  fret  so  much  over  the  everlast 
ing  wherewithal,  which  was  so  vulgar  and  yet  so 
important.  "But  that's  what  this  row  is  about," 
Barney  soliloquized.  "In  fact,"  he  added,  "it's 
the  unfortunate  and  unlooked-for  incident  of  my 
having  a  little  money,  by  Jove,  that  has  parted  us  ! 
Well,  I  '11  go  back  next  week,  and  Flip  will  make 
up,  she  will  be  so  glad  to  see  the  good-for-nothing 
old  man  safe  again.  If  she  won't,  why,  let  her  go. 
I  can  amuse  myself  without  her.  It  will  be  dull  at 
home,  of  course.  Philippa  has  made  things  bright, 
dear  old  girl ! "  and  then  a  tear  would  actually 
steal  into  the  miscreant's  eye,  and  trickle  down  his 
cheek.  But  he  was  roaring  with  laughter  the  mo 
ment  afterward,  and  had  forgotten  wife,  home, 
everything,  —  he  would  have  forgotten  his  children, 
only  he  had  not  thought  of  them  in  that  connec 
tion,  —  at  some  sally  of  Stanhope's ;  for  Stanhope 
was  outdoing  himself  in  jollity  and  good-fellowship. 
Eileen  seemed  to  have  more  engagements  than 
usual  during  this  week,  and  had  been  out  a  good 
part  of  the  time.  All  day  Saturday  she  was  busy  in 
her  room,  and  Saturday  afternoon  she  announced 
to  Philippa  that  she  was  going  to  Barrackpore  with 
the  Viceroy's  party  for  Sunday.  At  this  Philippa 
turned  pale.  Her  own  plan  had  been  to  spend  the 
next  day  tete-&-tete  with  Eileen  and  to  tell  her,  — 


108  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

for  Sunday  would  be  too  late  for  demurral  or  ob 
jection  to  have  weight,  —  and  to  arrange  that  Eileen 
should  stay  with  a  Mrs.  Granby  —  an  elderly  woman 
who  had  been  a  friend  of  Eileen's  mother  —  until 
Barney  came  back;  then,  if  Eileen  and  Barney 
chose  to  keep  house  together,  they  could  do  so. 
It  was  none  of  Philippa's  affair.  Well,  she  would 
write  her  a  long  letter  on  Sunday,  explaining  every 
thing;  and  whether  Eileen  judged  her  harshly,  or 
everybody  judged  her  harshly,  or  not,  nothing 
mattered  now.  She  would  be  the  solace  of  her 
father's  declining  years  and  the  stay  of  her  own 
dear  children. 

Once  the  thought  did  come  to  her,  —  what  if 
Biddy,  darling,  sweet  little  Biddy,  come  to  Eileen's 
age,  herself  dead  and  Barney  in  charge,  should 
marry  as  Eileen  had  done,  and  be  left  as  Eileen 
had  been,  a  young  widow?  Philippa  gasped;  but 
her  grim  resolution  was  taken,  her  wrongs  must  be 
avenged. 

She  kissed  Eileen  affectionately,  put  her  arms 
about  her  neck,  and  the  tears  did  gather  in  her 
eyes.  Her  resolution  weakened,  but  she  spurred 
herself  on  by  thinking  of  her  bitter  wrongs. 

"  It  will  be  dull  for  you,  darling,  and  I  hate  to 
leave  you,"  said  Eileen,  fondly.  Philippa  shud 
dered.  "  But  I  am  obliged  to  make  this  little 
visit.  There  are  reasons  which  I  will  explain  to 
you  on  Monday."  Poor  Philippa  !  She  could  not 
utter  a  sound.  How  Eileen  would  hate  her  when 
she  found  that  she  had  deliberately  deceived  her  ! 

Eileen   detached  herself  from  her  sister's  arms. 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


109 


"  On  Monday,  then,  dear,"  she  said,  and  went  away. 
If  Philippa  could  have  seen  what  Eileen  had  been 
doing  in  her  room,  if  she  had  heard  the  directions 
given  to  the  servants,  and  if  she  could  have  ob 
served  the  look,  sly  and  sad  too,  which  came  into 
Eileen's  eyes,  she  would  not  have  been  so  sure 
that  her  own  secrecy  had  been  so  wonderfully 
maintained. 

Philippa  stood  near  the  door,  lost  in  a  confusion 
of  thoughts.  Riotous,  mad,  ugly  thoughts  they  were, 
new  and  unwonted  for  that  gentle  spirit.  Revenge 
was  uppermost.  Even  the  "  dear  children's  "  images 
were  visible  to  her  mind  in  a  kind  of  halo  of  fury. 
The  picture  of  Barney  returning,  gay,  careless,  full 
of  apologies,  confident  of  finding  his  wife  anxious, 
alarmed,  and  consequently  ready  to  forgive  as  always, 

—  Barney  coming  to  his  house  to   find  her  gone, 

—  what  joy  she  felt  in  the  prospect  of  so  circum 
venting  him  !     All  her  regret  at  her  conduct  toward 
poor   Eileen  was   swallowed   up  in  this  grim  joy. 
Poor  Philippa  !     Her  eyes  were  of  steel  and   her 
lips  of  white  lead,  as  she  dragged  herself  to   her 
lonely  dinner.     She  busied  herself  Saturday  evening 
by  destroying  all  her  letters.     On  Sunday  she  went 
to    church  as  usual;  but  the    strain  was  too  great 
there,  and   she   came  out  "  feeling  faint,"  she  ex 
plained  to  the  person  next  her.     "  Forgive  us  our 
trespasses  as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass  against 
us."      The  words   choked   Philippa,  who  in  what 
ever  angry  frame  she  had  gone  to  church  before, 
had  always  melted  and  forgiven  Barney  everything 
at   those   words ;    for  Philippa    meant   every  word 


HO  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

she  uttered,  in  prayer  and  out.  The  gentle  peti 
tion  excited  her  to  frenzy.  She  knew  she  could 
not  reason  against  it.  Of  course  it  was  her  duty  to 
forgive,  she  knew,  but  she  could  not  see  her  duty 
then  in  the  whirlwind  which  surrounded  it ;  so  she 
went  home,  nursing  her  wrath  all  the  way. 

She  was  in  terror  all  day,  for  fear  Barney  would 
appear.  He  might  be  in  Calcutta  all  the  time  ;  she 
knew  nothing  of  his  movements,  but  at  all  events 
the  thing  was  a  dead  secret.  Her  ayah  knew  that 
she  was  going  away,  and  perhaps  one  or  two  of  the 
bearers ;  but  until  the  boxes  went  on  the  following 
morning  to  the  steamer,  not  a  soul  would  know, 
and  it  would  be  too  late  for  even  Barney  to  stop 
her  then. 

After  church  various  men  came  to  pay  visits,  as 
is  the  custom.  Philippa  saw  them  all.  Yes,  Barney 
was  off  with  Captain  Stanhope.  Her  manner  had 
always  been  languid  and  indifferent  concerning  her 
husband's  movements,  so  she  had  not  much  to  affect 
now.  Pig-sticking?  Yes,  she  believed  they  had 
gone  pig-sticking.  Coming  back  ?  Oh,  she  did  n't 
know.  "Whenever  the  pigs  stopped  biting,"  she 
laughed.  Fred  Barnet,  who  was  calling,  said  after 
ward  he  had  never  known  the  icicle  in  such  a  melt 
ing  mood ;  she  was  even  droll,  and  made  jokes  ! 

All  the  afternoon  it  took  to  write  Eileen.  Then 
there  was  a  short  drive,  a  shorter  dinner,  a  long 
evening,  a  wakeful  night,  dawn,  and  the  early  start. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"CILEEN  had  had  a  hard  week  of  it.  Captain 
•*-'  Jack  Beverley  had  disappeared,  without  a  word 
or  a  sign.  The  last  time  she  had  seen  him  was 
that  evening  when  she  had  ridden  with  Colonel 
Beverley  in  the  Row.  He  had  asked,  with  great 
earnestness,  —  which  was  feigned,  of  course,  —  if  he 
might  see  her  the  next  day,  and  that  was  all.  He 
had  not  come,  he  had  not  sent.  He  had  not  been 
seen. 

Colonel  Beverley  had  been  kind  and  thoughtful, 
and  really  devoted  to  her.  Eileen  supposed  he 
thought  her  moping  for  his  wretched  son.  She 
would  let  him  see  that  no  such  thought  disturbed 
her.  Jack  went  off  a  day  or  two  ago,  he  said. 
Calcutta  was  getting  too  hot  for  him.  He  did  not 
explain  what  Jack  had  done,  of  course ;  but  he  im 
plied  that  it  had  something  to  do  with  Sidney 
Markham. 

It  was  while  she  was  in  this  state  that  she  dis 
covered  Philippa's  secret.  It  seemed  a  pitiful  thing 
to  Eileen,  —  this  lame  and  ineffectual  attempt  at  con 
cealment.  Eileen  was  sure  ;  and  to  make  assurance 
double,  she  had  gone  to  the  P.  &  O.  Steamer  Office 
and  found  "  P.  W.'s  "  cabin  engaged.  It  was  a 
simple  matter  to  engage  one  for  "  E.  B."  near  it. 


112  THE  SEVER  LEYS. 

For  Eileen's  mind  was  made  up  to  leave  India. 
She  was  wasting  her  life  here.  She  must  go  to  Eng 
land  with  Philippa,  and  be  of  service  to  her.  She 
had  only  hampered  and  hindered  Philippa  hereto 
fore  ;  now  all  that  should  be  changed.  And  Eileen's 
sparkling  face  took  on  a  sober,  fixed  look,  as  she 
vowed  to  be  nothing  but  a  drudge  —  forever. 

The  Sunday  at  Barrackpore  helped  Eileen  out 
immensely  in  her  machinations.  She  must  come 
into  Calcutta  Sunday  night  by  train,  stay  with  Mrs. 
Gillespie,  the  military  secretary's  wife,  over  night, 
confide  in  her  at  that  late  moment  (that  was  the 
worst  of  it) ,  go  on  board  early,  and  hide  in  her  own 
cabin  until  the  vessel  was  under  way.  It  was  a  bold 
plot ;  and  Eileen  was  nervous  and  excited  all  day 
Sunday.  She  had  never  been  quite  so  gay.  The 
men  were  all  at  her  feet.  There  were  all  the  aides, 
gay,  dashing,  young  captains,  and  there  were  visitors 
from  England,  and  there  was  Colonel  Beverley,  whom 
Eileen  had  not  expected  to  see,  and  whose  presence 
embarassed  her  somewhat.  At  luncheon  she  sat  at 
the  Viceroy's  right  hand,  and  he  devoted  himself  to 
her;  devouring  her  beauty  with  his  large,  round 
black  eyes,  set  close  together  and  hedging  in  his 
large  aquiline  nose  in  a  manner  that  suggested 
a  bird  of  prey,  and  was  not  altogether  pleasant  to 
the  objects  of  his  admiration.  His  compliments 
were  fulsome ;  and  Eileen  was  always  glad  when  a 
prettier  woman  than  she  appeared,  and  released  her 
from  these  blushing  honors. 

"We  are  to  have  an  operetta  in  two  weeks,"  said 
the  Viceroy,  "  and  you  are  to  take  a  part.  It  is  to 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  113 

be  the  '  Crimson  Scarf,'  and  you  are  Tessa.  The 
costume  will  suit  you  perfectly ;  all  that  network  of 
velvet  skirts,  you  know,  and  the  pretty  Venetian 
head-dress.  I  see  you  in  it  now." 

"  You  do  more  than  others  will,  then,"  said  Eileen, 
with  a  laugh.  "I  cannot  do  the  part,  truly,"  she 
uttered.  "  I  pray  your  Honor's  clemency ;  give  it 
to  Sidney  Markham." 

The  Viceregal  brow  clouded ;  its  owner  was  not 
accustomed  to  contradiction  in  his  absolute  dicta 
torship  at  Calcutta.  "  I  hoped  my  request  was  a 
command,"  he  said  pettishly;  "  it  is  usually  so  con 
sidered.  I  have  given  out  that  the  Lady  Eileen 
Beaufort  is  to  do  Tessa.  We  can't  possibly  do 
without  you.  I  pray  you  to  reconsider  this  freak." 
The  Viceroy's  ill-humor  alarmed  the  others  at  the 
table,  who  hastened  to  amuse  and  interest  him. 

"  We  've  got  a  first-rate  artist  to  paint  Moonbeam 
[his  favorite  horse],"  broke  in  Captain  Carbury, — 
"  a  man  who  was  just  passing  through  Calcutta,  and 
glad  to  do  it." 

The  august  host  looked  through  the  daring  inter 
rupter,  and  turned  completely  round,  facing  Eileen. 
"  My  wishes  in  this  matter  seem  to  me  reasonable," 
he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "  You  will  offend  me  mortally 
by  refusing  to  grant  them." 

Eileen  looked  pathetically  childlike,  as  she  raised 
her  eyes  imploringly  to  his  birdlike  countenance. 
"  There  are  good  reasons,"  she  returned,  in  a  tone 
as  low  ;  "  you  will  know  them  to-morrow.  —  And 
how  sly  and  horrid  you  will  think  me  too  !  "  was 
her  mental  addition  to  the  remark. 
8 


114  THE  B EVER  LEYS. 

The  Viceroy  showed  his  annoyance  so  plainly 
that  Eileen  was  a  little  uncomfortable.  "  Have  me 
bastinadoed,"  she  laughed,  tossing  her  head,  "  for  a 
bad  subject." 

"For  an  incorrigible,  disobedient  piece  of  wilful 
loveliness,"  rejoined  his  Viceregal  Majesty,  half  smil 
ing  and  half  cross.  "  I  know  you  will  reconsider  and 
do  my  behest.  Come,  I  ask  it  as  a  favor.  Is  it  pos 
sible  you  can  resist  an  appeal  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  would  do  it,  if  I  could ;  but  I  can't,"  Eileen 
said  decidedly ;  and  then  reflecting  that  she  should 
be  off  in  the  morning,  she  added  defiantly,  "  This  is 
my  ultimatum." 

The  Viceroy  was  so  seriously  vexed  that  he  left 
the  table. 

Colonel  Beverley  strolled  by  Eileen's  side  to  the 
cool,  dark  morning-room.  Eileen  was  not  anxious 
to  be  alone  with  him.  It  had  troubled  her  rather 
to  find  him  at  Barrackpore.  And  yet  he  was  such  a 
noble,  fine  man  that  Eileen  felt,  after  all,  that  he  was 
about  the  only  stanch  friend  she  had  in  India,  except 
Mr.  Warwick.  "  How  unreliable  first  judgments  are  !  " 
she  said  to  herself.  "  I  could  have  sworn  at  first  that 
Jack  was  far  the  better  man  of  the  two.  A  fig  for 
perception  ! "  They  sat  down  on  a  low  sofa  near 
the  long  windows.  Hedges  of  scarlet  pointzettia 
glowed  in  the  sunlight.  The  day  was  perfection. 

"You  are  looking  lovely,  dear  Lady  Ellen,"  said 
the  Colonel,  gallantly.  "Are  you  tired  of  hearing 
that  ?  It  was  the  first  thing  that  rose  to  my  lips,  I 
assure  you.  It  is  useless  to  try  to  think  of  anything 
else  with  that  face  before  one." 


THE  B EVER  LEYS.  115 

It  was  the  worst  course  the  Colonel  could  have 
chosen.  Eileen  was  in  no  mood  for  trivialities ; 
and  barefaced  compliment  always  angered  her. 

"You  must  know  me  little,  and  respect  me  less," 
she  said,  gazing  angrily  at  her  admiring  companion, 
"  if  you  think  that  sort  of  thing  pleases  me.  I  want 
to  be  serious  ;  I  want  to  live.  I  'm  trying  to  shape 
a  course.  You  hinder  instead  of  helping  me 
when  you  make  me  feel  like  a  simpering  wax-doll. 
No,  never  mind  disclaiming,"  she  said  hastily,  for 
Colonel  Beverley  was  about  to  break  in.  "  Don't 
apologize,  nor  say  anything  more  of  the  same  sort. 
I  loathe  compliments  of  the  kind  men  give  me. 
The  highest  flattery  would  be  to  consult  me  about 
some  important  question,  —  something  that  is  of 
value,  of  weight." 

The  Colonel  sat  looking  on,  highly  diverted.  He 
had  resumed  his  easy  attitude,  and  was  watching 
every  turn  of  the  pretty  head,  every  turn  of  the 
proud  lip.  She  never  looked  so  lovely,  he  thought. 
The  new  role  suited  her  better  than  any  other. 

He  looked  fondly  upon  her.  "Forgive  me,"  he 
said  softly,  tenderly,  "  I  spoke  from  impulse  en 
tirely.  Your  beauty  is  inward  as  well  as  outward ; 
no  one  appreciates  that  fact  better  than  I.  Com 
mon  compliments  are  vulgar,  and  I  am  ashamed. 
—  Most  women  like  them,"  he  added  to  himself; 
"  how  is  one  to  know?  —  Truly,"  he  went  on  ear 
nestly,  "  I  know  you  are  in  perplexity.  Can  I  be 
of  the  slightest  service  ?  Pardon  me  for  saying  that 
Barney  is  frightfully  thoughtless,  and  that  I  under 
stand  how  much  worry  he  is  giving  you  both." 


Il6  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

Eileen  started.  She  might  almost  confide  in 
Colonel  Beverley ;  he  would  help  her,  and  after  she 
and  Philippa  were  gone,  he  would  have  an  eye  to 
Barney,  at  all  events.  But,  no,  a  man  like  Colonel 
Beverley,  wise,  strong,  deliberate,  would  certainly 
oppose  her  scheme,  and  call  it  girlish,  headstrong. 
She  dared  not  tell  him. 

It  was  impossible  to  leave  Calcutta  forever  with 
out  learning  something  more  definite  about  Jack. 
She  might  ask  quite  calmly  now,  and  not  appear  to 
pine  for  him.  "  Did  you  say  Captain  Beverley  had 
gone  for  very  long?  "  she  asked,  with  an  assumed  air 
of  carelessness. 

"No,"  answered  Colonel  Beverley,  with  a  slight 
flush.  He  was  unprepared.  ("  How  sensitive  he  is 
about  that  boy  !  "  thought  Eileen ;  "I  am  sorry  I 
have  distressed  him.")  "  No,  he  has  gone  to  the 
Mofussil,  I  hardly  know  where  or  why.  He  made 
some  excuse  about  shooting,  or  visiting  chummeries, 
or  something.  He  is  an  odd  chap.  With  every 
appearance  of  an  infant's  candor,  he  is  really  as 
deep  as  a  well." 

"  He  has  always  seemed  straightforward  and  honest 
to  me,"  answered  Eileen.  "  I  am  often  mistaken  in 
faces,  but  I  hardly  thought  I  could  be  in  his.  How 
ever,"  she  added  hastily  and  laughingly,  "  I  have 
not  made  a  study  of  his  physiognomy,  and  might  easily 
be  wrong.  There  is  one  thing  I  have  not  quite  un 
derstood  "  (this  rather  timidly).  "  He  made  an  ap 
pointment  with  me  for  the  morning  after  he  left.  It 
was  not  an  important  appointment,  —  to  call ;  but  a 
man  should  keep  the  most  trivial  engagements  with 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  117 

a  woman,  and  he  never  came  nor  sent  me  word.     I 
was  annoyed.     It  is  not  like  your  son  to  be  rude." 

Colonel  Beverley  bowed  gravely ;  he  looked  pale. 
He  walked  to  the  window  with  an  anxious  air,  and 
looked  out.  "  My  dear  Lady  Ellen,"  he  said,  as  if 
it  cost  him  an  effort,  "  do  not  judge  Jack  harshly. 
He  really  means  well,  but  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
sometimes  he  distresses  me.  As  for  his  rudeness 
to  you,  that  I  am  quite  sure  was  unintentional.  He 
received  letters  which  threatened  his  peace  of  mind, 
and  he  went  away ;  his  engagement  even  with  you — 
and  I  know  he  admires  you  excessively  "  (Eileen's  lip 
curled)  —  "  forgotten  for  the  time  being.  It  may  be 
that  he  left  a  note,  which  his  bearer,  who  was  dis 
missed  that  night,  forgot  to  deliver.  I  cannot  be 
lieve  even  Jack  to  be  so  careless,  and  then  he  has 
had  plenty  of  time  since  to  write." 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  Eileen,  in  her 
heart  very  angry  with  Jack.  To  decide  not  to 
keep  the  appointment  —  to  flee  from  her  —  was 
one  thing ;  to  forget  all  about  her  was  another ! 
She  had  seldom  been  forgotten,  —  this  sovereign 
lady! 

A  man  who  gazes  into  your  eyes  with  all  the  ar 
dor  he  is  capable  of  putting  into  his,  and  asks  you 
in  a  heartfelt  manner  to  receive  him  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment  next  morning,  must  not  be  per 
mitted,  for  the  sake  of  example,  to  ignore  you  from 
that  moment  with  impunity.  There  are  certain 
duties  one  owes  one's  sex. 

"  I  do  not  think  he  meant  to  be  rude,  and  I 
forgive  him,  especially  as  there  is  so  little  to  for- 


Il8  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

give,"  she  said,  with  a  jerky  laugh.  This  was  her 
compromise. 

"You  are  too  good,"  replied  the  Colonel,  dryly. 
"  He  is  not  worth  your  clemency." 

"  I  am  going  into  Calcutta  to-night,"  said  Eileen, 
rising  suddenly,  "with  the  Gillespies,  and  I  must 
really  go  and  talk  to  all  these  people." 

The  Colonel  drew  aside  the  purdah  for  her  and 
bowed.  "  I  'm  going  in  too,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  see 
you  at  home  to-night?  " 

Eileen  grew  crimson.  "  No,"  she  said  hastily ; 
"don't  come  to-night." 

Another  day  of  this  would  be  too  much  for  her. 
Heaven  !  If  he  should  go  to  see  Philippa  and  tell 
her  she  had  come  into  Calcutta  !  Ah,  well,  Phi- 
lippa's  gates  would  be  closed  to  visitors  that  night 
anyway,  so  nobody  would  know  whether  she  was 
there  or  not. 

Colonel  Beverley  seemed  ruffled  after  his  interview 
with  Eileen.  That  interview  had  not  been  what  he 
had  intended.  The  conversation  had  taken  a  turn 
for  which  he  had  not  been  prepared. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

JACK  BEVERLEY,  when  he  went  home  that 
night,  after  seeing  Eileen  in  the  Row  and  lend 
ing  his  horse  to  his  father,  was  not  quite  happy. 
Eileen's  manner  had  been  cold  to  him,  as  we  know, 
for  the  first  time  in  their  short  but  full  acquaintance. 
He  knew  her  well  he  felt,  thoroughly ;  and  uncer 
tainty,  except  of  a  surface  sort,  was  one  of  the 
last  of  her  attributes.  She  had  always  had  a  frank 
smile  for  him  every  time  he  had  seen  her,  and 
their  intercourse  had  been  of  the  simplest  and  most 
untrammelled  sort. 

However,  as  we  also  know,  he  had  not  really 
worried,  because  he  felt  it  such  a  simple  matter  to 
set  things  straight.  Jack's  nature  was  of  that  lim 
pid,  crystalline  kind,  which  knows  no  guile,  and  does 
not  admit  the  possibility  of  mystery.  "  If  you  don't 
know  what  people  mean,  ask  'em,"  Jack  always  said  ; 
and  that  rule  had  worked  to  the  extent  of  simplify 
ing  and  making  clear  a  life  absolutely  without  poke- 
holes  and  corners.  It  is  true  that  some  persons,  not 
recognizing  the  possibility  of  perfect  guilelessness  in 
this  world  of  ours,  probably  thought  he  was  insincere. 
A  perfectly  transparent  nature  might  be  incredible  to 


120  THE  B EVER  LEYS. 

such.  A  character  without  subtleties  has  ordinarily 
no  occupation  in  a  world  of  subtleties.  But  this  young 
man  saw  dishonesty  and  shunned  it.  He  was  not 
good-looking  enough  quite  to  be  spoiled  by  women, 
—  a  circumstance  for  which  he  should  have  been 
truly  thankful.  He  was  modest  without  being  shy, 
which  is,  after  all,  another  name  for  self-conscious. 

Colonel  Beverley  was  irritated,  on  the  whole,  by 
Jack.  The  fellow  had  the  audacity  to  look  older 
than  his  years,  and  at  twenty- three  had  a  few  gray 
hairs  on  his  temples,  and  was  often  taken  for  thirty ! 
The  gray  hairs  the  Colonel  resented  especially,  as  a 
personal  affront  to  himself.  "  The  very  idea  of  a 
boy  turning  gray!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  never  had 
a  white  hair  until  I  was  five-and-forty."  The  Colo 
nel  was  not  much  over  that  age  now. 

The  announcement  of  his  orders  for  India  made 
Jack  very  happy.  He  had  longed  always  to  be  with 
his  father.  They  were  the  only  two  in  the  family 
now,  and  Jack  had  pictured  to  himself  a  thousand 
times  the  joys  of  ministering  to  "dear  old  dad  ;  "  but 
"dear  old  dad"  had  no  idea  of  being  ministered 
unto,  and  Jack  was  given  to  understand  that  fact 
very  early  in  his  Indian  career. 

Colonel  Beverley  did  everything  better  than  Jack. 
He  rode  superbly ;  was  an  admirable  tiger-hunter 
with  a  great  record ;  was  also  a  renowned  slayer  of 
boars,  fencer,  tent-pegger,  sheep-quarterer,  —  there 
was  nothing  he  could  not  do.  He  was  an  Adonis 
in  point  of  looks  too ;  every  unattached  woman  in 
India  sighed  for  him,  and  some  of  the  attached. 
And  Jack  learned  soon  that  his  role  was  that  of  a 


THE  BEYER  LEYS.  121 

very  young  son,  following,  as  well  as  he  could,  a  very 
long  way  after,  an  accomplished  parent.  Admiring 
and  revering  that  parent,  perfectly  contented  with 
his  position  in  regard  to  him,  Jack  found  no  diffi 
culty  in  leading  a  happy  and  jolly  life  in  Calcutta,  for 
he  had  no  vanity.  His  duties  were  light ;  and  therein 
lay  Jack's  only  source  of  discontent.  He  was  aide- 
de-camp  to  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of  Bengal,  and 
that  kind  of  work  did  not  suit  him.  It  was  only 
temporary,  however,  —  this  position,  —  for  soon  he 
expected  to  be  detailed  on  special  duty. 

A  few  weeks  before  our  story  opened,  he  had  met 
Lady  Eileen  Beaufort,  who  had  just  arrived  in  India 
for  the  second  time.  She  had  come  to  play  tennis 
at  Belvedere,  the  Lieutenant-Governor's  house  ;  then 
to  dinner  on  the  same  night,  then  to  a  ball.  Every 
day  after  that  saw  them  together  somewhere.  Op 
portunities  were  frequent ;  and  when  they  did  not 
come  of  themselves,  they  were  easily  brought  about 
by  the  smitten  Captain,  who  at  the  end  of  a  very 
few  days  was  in  love  to  his  finger-tips  and  the  roots 
of  his  hair.  His  love  was  violent ;  yet  finding  no  op 
position,  he  was  not  unhappy.  On  the  contrary,  he 
grew  sunnier  and  more  genial ;  pensive  at  times,  of 
course,  but  smiling,  as  a  rule,  broadly  on  all  the 
world.  His  was  no  cankering  passion  to  gloom  and 
grow  morbid  over.  It  was  so  patent  that  all  the 
world  might  see  ;  and  if  she  had  refused  him,  Jack 
would  not  have  minded  the  world's  seeing  his  misery, 
either. 

He  had  asked  Eileen  on  the  Row  if  he  might  see 
her  the  next  day.  He  must  tell  her  —  tell  her  ? 


122  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

he  had  already  told  her  in  a  hundred  ways  —  he 
must  tell  her  with  his  lips  that  he  loved  her  with  all 
his  heart,  and  that  he  hoped  to  make  her  his  wife, 
bold  as  the  hope  might  seem. 

Colonel  Beverley  was  standing  in  the  doorway 
when  Jack  came  home  to  dress  for  dinner.  The 
Lieutenant- Governor  had  been  away  on  an  unoffi 
cial  tour,  and  Jack  was  living  with  his  father  at  his 
father's  house  on  Outram  Street. 

"There  's  a  despatch  for  you,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Jack  strode  in,  tossed  his  whip  to  the  bearer,  and 
stood  by  the  table  reading  it.  His  face  clouded, 
"  I  say,  father,"  he  called  out,  "  I  'm  sent  for  to  go 
to  Dinapore  to-night.  It 's  a  beastly  bore.  How 
can  I  do  it  with  two  or  three  engagements  on 
hand?" 

The  Colonel  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Social  en 
gagements  have  to  fly  when  duty  calls,"  he  laughed. 
"  It  may  be  about  your  appointment.  You  ought 
really  to  go.  What 's  up  that  you  can't?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Jack,  trembling,  —  "  nothing, 
really.  My  own  selfish  pleasure,  that's  all;  that 
can  wait.  I  must  go  at  ten.  But,  oh,  father,"  he 
called  out  again,  "  I  must  tell  you  —  sit  down  a 
minute,"  for  the  Colonel  was  looking  at  his  watch 
uneasily  and  turning  toward  the  door.  "  I  know  you 
have  to  dress.  I  won't  keep  you  a  minute.  Father, 
you  know  how  I  feel  about  Lady  Eileen  Beaufort. 
You  have  seen  us  together.  You  approve  of  it; 
why  should  you  not?  I  was  going  to  see  her  to 
morrow  to  settle  the  matter.  I  will  write  to  her 
to-night  instead.  You  will  look  after  her  a  little, 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  123 

father  ?  Tell  her  I  shall  be  back  soon,  —  that  I 
have  no  other  thought  —  " 

"Jack, "said  his  father,  laughing,  "you  are  maud 
lin.  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  slop  over  like  that 
to  anybody  but  me.  It  takes  a  father's  affection  to 
stand  it.  Write  your  letter  and  send  it.  I  shall  not 
say  a  word  to  Lady  Eileen,  nor  anybody,  until  you 
come  back.  It  would  be  indelicate  in  me.  You  do 
not  know  yet  that  she  cares  for  you ;  you  are  letting 
your  conceit  carry  you  a  little  too  far." 

Jack's  eyes  gleamed ;  he  knew.  His  father's 
shots  glanced  off  him ;  he  was  sure  of  her.  "  All 
right,  then,  dad,"  he  said  merrily.  "  I  shall  be  back 
in  a  few  days,  perhaps  to-morrow.  You  need  n't  stop 
any  longer.  I  know  you  have  a  dinner  on  to-night. 
I  will  send  my  bearer  with  the  letter  to  Lady  Eileen, 
and  she  will  understand  and  wait.  Good-night,  old 
chap  !  take  care  of  yourself."  And  Jack's  honest 
face  shone  with  filial  love. 

Colonel  Beverley  went  to  his  dressing-room.  He 
had  no  engagement  out ;  but  he  dressed  and  went  to 
the  Club,  and  dined  by  himself.  When  he  came 
back,  it  was  early,  and  Jack  had  not  gone.  The 
Colonel  must  have  bolted  his  dinner,  for  he  sat  al 
ways  an  hour,  even  when  he  was  alone.  Colonel 
Beverley  did  not  see  his  son  again,  however;  he 
stole  quietly  up  the  veranda  ladder,  —  the  servants' 
way,  —  and  entered  his  dressing-room. 

Jack  had  dined  hastily,  and  busied  himself  even 
during  dinner  by  scribbling  on  a  few  pieces  of  paper. 
A  letter  of  the  kind  he  intended  sending  would 
really  have  required  two  or  three  whole  days.  He 


124  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

was  not  a  ready  penman ;  but  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  nature,  not  art,  must  be  his  guide,  and  that  he 
would  write  what  came  uppermost,  without  regard 
to  rhetoric.  The  result  of  his  struggles  would  not 
have  reflected  immense  credit  upon  the  average 
school-boy ;  but  Eileen  would  know  what  he  meant, 
—  there  was  no  doubt  of  that. 

Kali  Dass,  the  bearer,  was  then  charged,  by  all 
that  was  good  and  all  that  was  bad,  to  deliver  that 
note  that  night.  "  You  are  to  go  directly  from  the  sta 
tion,  after  leaving  me,  to  Winterford  Sahib's  house." 
These  directions  were,  of  course,  delivered  in  Hin 
dustani,  or  the  jargon  which  passes  for  that  stately 
tongue  among  the  English  residents  of  Calcutta. 
"  You  are  not  to  loiter  on  the  way,  to  speak  to  one 
of  your  Ooriah  friends,  do  you  hear?  You  are  to 
go  straight  to  WINTERFORD  Sahib's  house,  and  de 
liver  this  note  into  the  hand  of  a  chuprassi,  —  do  you 
hear?"  The  bearer,  who  had  been  salaaming  in 
dustriously,  took  the  note  and  put  it  carefully  in  his 
breast.  "Take  the  peon-book  and  get  a  receipt 
for  it  in  the  Memsahib's  own  handwriting."  More 
salaams. 

After  Jack  had  steamed  away  in  the  train  from 
Howrah,  Colonel  Beverley,  who  had  followed  him 
out  of  the  house  and  seen  him  off  at  a  distance,  told 
the  bearer  that  he  was  going  to  the  Winterfords' 
house  himself,  and  that  he  would  take  the  Captain's 
note.  Kali  Dass  positively  hesitated  ;  his  orders  had 
been  so  strict.  But,  of  course,  the  Colonel  Sahib 
was  equivalent  to  his  own  Sahib ;  so  he  gave  up  the 
charge,  and  thought  no  more  about  it.  That  night 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS.  125 

the  letter  was  reduced  to  ashes  by  the  fond  father ; 
and  the  next  morning  Kali  Dass,  on  some  trifling 
pretext,  was  dismissed.  He  made  himself  so  trou 
blesome  by  his  outcries,  however,  that  a  place  was 
found  for  him  out  of  town  and  he  disappeared 
quietly  at  last. 

The  next  thing  was  to  keep  Jack  away ;  for  it  is 
unnecessary  now  to  state  that  Colonel  Beverley's 
role  was  anything  but  that  of  a  devoted  father-in- 
law,  and  that  he  had  decided  prospects  in  the  matri 
monial  line  for  himself,  —  prospects  with  which  Jack 
materially  interfered. 

He  had  been  cool  and  crafty.  It  would  not  have 
done  to  say  one  word  against  Eileen  to  Jack,  of 
course,  nor  much  against  Jack  to  Eileen.  The  only 
thing  to  be  done  was  what  he  had  done,  —  to  poison 
Eileen's  mind  a  little  against  Jack,  and  to  remove 
Jack  and  to  muzzle  him  for  a  time  until  he  could 
press  his  own  suit.  He  knew  well  that  the  moment 
for  his  own  declaration  had  not  come  ;  he  did  not 
dare  hurry  it,  nor  did  he  dare  let  his  real  feeling 
show  for  an  instant.  Eileen  had  still  a  soft  spot  in 
her  heart  for  Jack,  and  she  might  suspect  if  he  over 
did  by  one  jot  his  interest  in  her.  It  galled  him  hor 
ribly  that  Jack  should  have  made  the  impression  he 
himself  had  aspired  to  make.  The  Colonel's  vanity 
formed  a  large  share  of  him.  He  was  vain  of  his 
looks  and  of  his  fascinations ;  and  here  was  Jack, 
ugly,  awkward,  untrained,  winning  the  smiles,  at  any 
rate,  and  the  approval  of  the  sweetest  creature  in 
Calcutta,  while  he  could  not  boast  of  anything  so 
far  but  a  kind  of  girlish  admiration  which  turned  his 


126  THEm  BEVERLEYS. 

very  soul  sick,  because  it  made  him  feel  that  he  was 
looked  upon  as  elderly.  Now,  however,  he  could 
devote  himself  to  the  task  in  hand ;  and  to  say 
truth,  he  had  made  good  strides  up  to  the  Sunday 
at  Barrackpore. 

Colonel  Denham-Browne  at  Dinapore  was  an  inti 
mate  friend  of  Colonel  Beverley's,  and  was  under 
great  obligation  to  him  on  account  of  some  pecu 
niary  affair  in  which  the  Colonel  had  obliged  him. 
Colonel  Beverley  had  been  so  eager  to  get  Jack  off  at 
once  that  he  had  written  Colonel  Denham-Browne 
to  send  for  Jack  by  telegraph.  "  I  want  you  to  see 
him  and  find  out  what  stuff  he  is  made  of,"  wrote 
Colonel  Beverley ;  "  and  keep  him  a  few  days,  a 
week,  if  you  can,  or  longer.  Busy  him.  He  's  in 
mischief  here,  the  dog,  and  I  want  the  thing  to  blow 
over.  Only  a  boyish  escapade,  but  awfully  annoying 
to  me,  you  know.  If  you  have  an  errand  up  in  the 
remote  Northwest,  send  him  there.  I  will  manage 
that  affair  of  the  shekels  for  you,  and  be  glad.  Don't 
fail  me  in  this,  that  's  all ;  and  above  everything, 
don't  let  the  boy  come  back,  not  even  'just  to  at 
tend  to  a  little  business,'  for  that 's  the  excuse  he  '11 
make.  He  's  headstrong,  and  will  cook  his  goose  in 
fifteen  minutes,  if  he  comes  back  here.  I  shall  be 
more  grateful  than  I  can  ever  tell." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

|\/[R.  WARWICK,  in  Calcutta  colloquial,  "lived 
^'•*-  over  his  office ;  "  that  is  to  say,  he  dwelt  in 
luxurious  bachelor-apartments  on  the  first  floor  of 
the  great  banking-house  of  Millanders,  Farquharson, 
&  Co.,  the  most  important  of  all  the  English  firms 
in  Calcutta  at  that  time.  Mr.  Warwick,  being  the 
senior  partner  of  the  firm  and  the  only  bachelor  in 
the  establishment,  lived  alone,  or  nominally  so. 
He  usually  had  two  or  three  young  fellows  stopping 
with  him,  and  often  whole  parties  of  travellers. 

Just  now  he  was  entertaining  a  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Maynard  from  America,  —  "  New  York  or  Chicago 
or  somewhere,"  as  Lady  Barney  Winterford  would 
have  said. 

Mr.  Maynard  was  a  constituent  of  the  great  firm, 
and  his  orders  were  so  massive  as  to  entitle  him  to 
respect.  In  addition  to  that  recommendation  he 
had  a  charming  wife.  Mr.  Warwick,  on  his  way 
back  from  England  the  last  time,  had  been  on  the 
same  steamer  with  the  Maynards,  and  had  become 
intimate  with  them,  —  perhaps  more  so  with  the  wife 
than  with  the  husband.  Mr.  Maynard  was  a  little 
loud-talking,  a  little  "  fussy,"  and  a  little  pompous, 
and  Mr.  Warwick  was  almost  silent.  Mr.  Maynard 


128  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

was  going  round  the  world  in  search  of  "  pointers," 
as  he  called  them,  and  was  collecting  them  at  the 
rate  of  a  dozen  a  minute.  Nothing  escaped  him ; 
he  was  watching  incessantly,  listening,  poking,  peer 
ing  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  To  Mrs.  Maynard, 
who  was  as  exquisitely  refined  as  the  traditional 
duchess  is  supposed  to  be  and  is  not,  he  must  have 
been  at  times  mortifying.  But  she  bore  him  in 
every  phase  without  a  flinch.  His  deference  to  her 
was  almost  courtly ;  and  the  ground  upon  which  she 
trod,  he  had  the  air  of  adoring. 

Mrs.  Maynard  had  been  twice  married,  and  had  a 
history.  There  were  faint  lines  of  suffering  in  her 
face,  upon  which  a  kind  of  heroic  peace  had  settled  ; 
but  her  smile  was  brilliant  still,  and  her  manner  told 
of  anything  but  weariness  of  spirit.  She  was  cheer 
ful,  handsome,  dignified,  and  utterly  un-American, 
as  Mr.  Warwick,  who  did  not  know,  conceived  that 
adjective.  He  had  talked  with  her  by  the  hour, 
found  her  deeply  read,  intelligent  even  to  learning, 
and  possessed  of  conversational  powers  which  daz 
zled  the  sober  Englishman. 

Eileen  had  been  on  this  same  voyage,  and  she 
had  grown  intimate  with  Mrs.  Maynard  too.  It  was 
by  means  of  this  friendship  between  the  two  women 
that  Mr.  Warwick  had  learned  first  to  observe,  then 
to  adore.  Eileen  was  a  little  bit  wild  on  board, 
bewitchingly  and  picturesquely  so,  doing  unconven 
tional  things,  flirting  a  good  deal ;  but  there  was 
hardly  a  moment  when  she  was  not  glad  to  leave 
her  admirers  and  sit  down  by  Mrs.  Maynard  for  a 
quiet  talk.  Mr.  Warwick  usually  joined  them.  At 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  1 39 

first  he  was  dazzled  by  her  quickness.  She  left  him 
out  of  sight  by  the  rapidity  of  her  speech,  motion, 
and  thought.  But  slowly  and  steadily  he  found  him 
self  unable  to  imagine  life  without  her  absorbing 
presence. 

Mrs.  Maynard  did  not  know  Eileen's  history  per 
fectly,  but  she  knew  enough  to  feel  certain  that 
there  must  be  sad  moments  in  her  life  now.  Of 
the  early  marriage  Mrs.  Maynard  had  learned  that 
it  was  disastrous,  wretched,  damning,  —  at  least  it 
would  have  been  this  last,  if  her  husband  had  lived. 
Of  the  effect  upon  this  seemingly  airy  nature,  it  was 
impossible  to  judge  in  the  very  least.  The  older 
woman  watched  for  undercurrents  of  unhappiness, 
for  wistful  far-away  looks,  for  any  of  the  traditional 
signs  of  hidden  sorrows.  All  were  wanting,  and 
Mrs.  Maynard  came  to  think  in  time  that  Eileen 
was  not  acting  a  part ;  for  if  ever  sincerity  and 
honesty  shone  from  truthful  eyes,  they  seemed  to 
look  out  from  Eileen  Beaufort's.  Yet  how  could  it 
be,  thought  Mrs.  Maynard,  that  a  girl  of  twenty-one 
even  could  have  gone  through  so  fearful  an  expe 
rience  without  a  trace  of  it,  without  one  line,  to 
mark  the  channel  of  shot  and  shell?  A  girl  of 
twenty- one,  who  possessed  intelligence  and  sensi 
bility  too,  —  how  could  such  an  anomaly  exist? 
And  Mrs.  Maynard  was  miserable  at  the  conclusion 
forced  upon  her  that  so  beautiful  a  creature  could 
be  so  callous. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  that  Eileen  had 
dismissed  Mr.  Warwick,  or  he  had  dismissed  her, 
the  conversation  turned  at  dinner  upon  her,  to  the 
9 


130 


THE  BEVERLRYS. 


great  discomfiture  of  the  host,  Mr.  Warwick  him 
self.  There  were  some  bankers  and  their  wives 
who  had  been  asked  to  meet  the  Maynards,  and 
Mr.  Maynard  had,  with  his  usual  thirst  for  informa 
tion,  propounded  a  great  many  questions  about  Cal 
cutta  society  (having  in  the  daytime  mastered  the 
Calcutta  methods  of  doing  business) .  Thanks  to  Mr. 
Warwick's  position,  the  Maynards  had  been  asked 
to  various  entertainments  at  Government  House,  to 
large  parties,  and  to  dinners ;  but  of  a  certain  set 
they  as  yet  knew  nothing.  Eileen  had  been  to  see 
Mrs.  Maynard,  and  had  driven  her  out,  and  had 
taken  her  to  call  upon  Philippa,  after  the  fashion 
of  society  at  Calcutta,  which  decrees  that  new-comers 
shall  pay  the  first  visit.  Philippa  had  punctiliously 
returned  the  visit,  appearing  at  her  stififest  and  most 
conventional.  She  had  then  asked  the  Maynards  to 
dinner ;  but  they  had  left  Calcutta  then  for  a  tour  in 
the  northwest,  and  when  they  came  back,  no  more 
civilities  had  been  exchanged.  Mrs.  Maynard  was 
disappointed,  for  she  had  hoped  to  know  Eileen 
better  and  better,  and  to  penetrate  beneath  the  sur 
face  or  behind  the  mask.  She  had  made  no  head 
way,  and  as  Eileen  was  always  with  a  party  of  persons 
of  whom  she  knew  nothing,  she  really  made  slight 
progress. 

"You  ask  me,"  said  Mr.  Carruthers-Smythe,  one 
of  the  guests,  "  about  the  sets  in  Calcutta.  I  can 
hardly  answer  that.  Rank  here  is  purely  official. 
When  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  here,  the  Viceroy 
outranked  him  officially.  I,  as  a  banker,  have  the 
lowest  position  above  a  broker.  Some  of  the  Vice- 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  131 

roy's  aides  outrank  him  socially.  But  they  are  usu 
ally  last  at  a  dinner.  Our  English  ideas  are  really 
reversed  out  here." 

Mr.  Maynard's  eyes  and  ears  were  very  wide 
open.  This  was  all  grist  for  his  mill.  How  he 
would  talk  when  he  got  home  !  He  was  not  sure 
that  he  could  not,  with  his  wife's  assistance,  —  she 
who  had  "  grammar  and  spelling  for  two,"  —  write  a 
book. 

"Where  do  I  come  in?"  he  asked  with  a  kind 
of  solemn  twinkle. 

"  I  doubt  if  you  come  in  at  all,"  his  wife  said, 
laughing,  "  except  by  courtesy.  Any  visitor,  of 
course,  is  given  a  proud  position.  I  am  sure  we 
have  been  treated  royally  here." 

"  Oh,  there  are  American  merchants  living  here," 
said  Mr.  Carruthers-Smythe.  "They  hold,  I  sup 
pose,  a  position  under  the  English  in  the  same  class. 
How  is  that,  Warwick?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  answered  that  gentle 
man,  who  had  been  given  leeway,  by  the  glibness  of 
the  conversation,  for  his  own  gloomy  thoughts.  "  I 
remember  one  night  at  Belvedere  at  a  dinner  an 
American  merchant  was  standing  by  me,  when  the 
aide  whispered  him  to  take  a  lady  —  rather  a  swell  — 
into  dinner.  '  What ! '  he  exclaimed,  '  that  woman 
given  to  me?  There  must  be  a  tin-pedler  here,  if 
I  am  exalted  like  that.'  It  amused  me  very  much. 
I  fancied  that  the  poor  fellow  had  usually  been  one 
of  those  left-over  men  at  Calcutta  dinners,  who,  it 
seems  to  me,  are  asked  simply  to  be  fed." 

"  But  you  see  there  are  so  many  extra  men  in 


132  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

India,"  spoke  Mrs.  Gedbourne,  the  wife  of  another 
merchant,  "  one  would  never  get  through  one's 
visiting-list,  unless,  indeed,  one  gave  dinners  to  men 
alone,  now  and  then,  to  catch  up."  Mrs.  Gedbourne 
looked  as  if  Indian  suns  had  faded  every  vestige  of 
color  from  her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  lips,  her  skin. 
She  was  very  pale,  and  almost  a  skeleton.  She  had 
been  in  India  twenty-five  years ;  danced  even  now, 
in  the  hot  weather ;  entertained  madly ;  never 
missed  a  festivity  of  any  kind,  and  was  known  as 
the  Salamander. 

Mr.  Maynard  turned  to  her.  "  Do  you  have  to 
have  everybody  on  your  visiting-list  to  dinner?  "  he 
asked,  amazed. 

"Why,  yes,  naturally,"  answered  Mrs.  Gedbourne. 
"  If  a  man  calls,  one  writes  him  down  in  one's  book ; 
one's  husband  calls  upon  him,  and  then  one  asks 
him  to  dinner.  After  that  —  I  mean,  after  his  din 
ner-visit  is  paid  —  one's  conscience  is  easy.  One 
can  drop  him  or  ask  him  again." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  "  that  is  hospitality ; 
but  I  should  think  you  would  grudge  all  this  enter 
taining  people  you  don't  care  anything  about." 

"  It  keeps  us  out  in  India  a  little  longer,  no 
doubt,"  said  Mr.  Carruthers-Smythe,  —  "  those  of 
us  who  are  trying  to  scrape  a  living  and  get  home." 
Mr.  Carruthers-Smythe's  firm  was  the  richest  in 
Calcutta,  after  Mr.  Warwick's. 

"But  how  do  these  other  fellows  live,"  asked 
Mr.  Maynard,  — "  fellows  like  Lord  Winterford,  I 
mean." 

Everybody  laughed. 


THE  B EVER  LEYS.  133 

"  Lord  Barney  Winterford  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Ged- 
bourne,  a  very  stout,  bald  man ;  "  oh  !  he  lives  on 
the  interest  of  his  debts.  He  's  one  of  our  privi 
leged  class  out  here,  —  privileged,  that  is,  to  cheat 
every  tradesman  out  of  every  pice  he  owes  him,  and 
yet  to  go  on  gayly  at  the  very  top  of  the  swim. 
Those  are  the  fellows  who  exasperate  us  honest 
men,  —  he,  and  Captain  Stanhope,  and  Carbury, 
and  half  those  army  chaps,  —  leading  a  silly,  frivo 
lous  life  of  idleness  and  worse,  drawing  pay  from 
the  government  for  no  services  rendered,  and 
looked  up  to  as  our  superiors." 

"  I  don't  mind  them  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Warwick, 
calmly.  "  It 's  the  same,  only  far  worse,  in  England. 
Nobody  here  does  look  up  to  Barney  Winterford 
nor  Vernon  Stanhope.  We  rate  them  for  what  they 
are  worth.  We  go  to  their  houses,  at  least  to  Lord 
Barney's,  for  his  wife's  sake." 

"And  his  sister's,"  added  Mr.  Maynard.  "Lady 
Eileen  Beaufort  is  the  attraction  there,  I  guess." 
And  he  winked  knowingly  at  the  eye  which  caught 
his  first. 

"Lady  Eileen  Beaufort  is,  unfortunately,  in  the 
best  set  here,"  Mrs.  Gedbourne  said.  "  She  is  not 
a  type,  believe  me,  Mrs.  Maynard,  of  that  set.  Her 
sister-in-law,  Lady  Barney  Winterford,  is  a  type  ; 
and  Lady  Eileen,  being  her  husband's  sister,  is  re 
ceived,  of  course,  and  in  fact  is  the  fashion  here  in 
a  way,  although  she  is  fast." 

Mrs.  Maynard  had  been  gradually  growing  redder 
and  redder.  She  was  genuinely  fond  of  Eileen  her 
self,  and  she  had  long  ago  guessed  Mr.  Warwick's 


134  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

secret.  He  was  very  pale,  in  spite  of  himself,  and 
hardly  had  let  Mrs.  Gedbourne  go  so  far.  But  Mrs. 
Maynard  put  a  word  in  first. 

"  Lady  Barney  may  be  a  type,"  she  said,  "  but 
Lady  Eileen  is  infinitely  more  interesting  to  me. 
As  for  her  being  objectionable,  I  was  on  board  ship 
with  her,  and  had  a  chance  of  observing  her  con 
stantly.  She  was  a  delight  to  me.  What  you  call 
her  fastness,  I  call  originality.  She  is  out  of  her 
element  here." 

"She  certainly  is,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Carruthers- 
Smythe,  "  and  I  wish  she  were  out  of  Calcutta  for 
the  sake  of  her  example." 

Mr.  Warwick  hastened  to  the  rescue  of  his  friend 
Mrs.  Maynard.  He  did  not  wish  to  see  her  be 
coming  unpopular,  and  he  knew  the  virulence  of 
Calcutta  women  under  certain  conditions.  "  Lady 
Eileen  is  original,  not  fast,"  he  said.  His  lips 
trembled,  but  he  mastered  himself  with  an  effort. 
"  But  her  brother  is  so  wild  and  untrained  that  she 
is  credited  with  all  his  curious  actions.  Don't  you 
think  there  's  something  in  that?"  he  asked,  almost 
apologetically,  taking  in  both  of  the  somewhat  ruffled 
champions  of  virtue,  and  smiling  at  the  same  time 
encouragingly  at  Mrs.  Maynard. 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  said  Mrs.  Gedbourne,  de 
cidedly,  shutting  her  thin  white  lips  together  with 
a  snap.  "  She  is  the  worst-behaved  young  woman 
I  have  ever  seen  in  good  society.  She  has  actually 
compromised  herself — " 

Mr.  Warwick's  face  grew  black.  "  I  am  old 
enough  to  be  Lady  Eileen's  father,"  he  said,  in  a 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  135 

distinct  voice,  —  there  was  no  tremble  on  his  lips 
now,  —  "  and  if  I  were  not,  I  could  say  with  pro 
priety  that  she  is  the  most  maligned  child  in  India. 
I  deny  your  charges,  Mrs.  Gedbourne,  and  in  this 
house  no  one  says  a  word  against  Lady  Eileen 
Beaufort." 

Mrs.  Maynard,  who  was  acting  hostess,  had  risen 
hastily,  the  port  and  claret  appearing  most  oppor 
tunely  at  that  instant ;  but  she  was  not  in  time  to 
prevent  an  outbreak. 

"  Will  you  order  the  carriage  —  a  ticca  —  any 
thing?"  said  Mrs.  Gedbourne  to  her  husband,  who 
sat  looking  like  a  perfect  idiot,  as  indeed  might 
the  best  of  men  under  these  trying  circumstances. 
"  This  is  most  singular  conduct,"  she  said,  turning 
to  her  host,  her  face  having  taken  on  a  ghastly 
pallor  really  green  in  its  tint,  "  and  needs  an  ex 
planation." 

Mr.  Warwick  had  not  the  slightest  idea  how  to 
act.  He  had  been  furiously  angry  with  a  lady  at  his 
own  table,  and  had  reproved  her  openly.  Yet  she 
had  insulted  his  dearest  friend,  his  love,  his  idol. 
He  was  indignant,  ashamed,  and  angry  still. 

Mrs.  Maynard  stepped  across  the  room,  and 
seized  Mrs.  Gedbourne's  hand.  "  I  am  hostess 
here  by  courtesy,"  she  said.  "  May  I  not  persuade 
you  to  stay  and  finish  the  evening?  I  am  well 
aware  what  the  general  opinion  is  here  of  the  lady 
in  question,  incorrect  as  I  believe  it  to  be.  But 
would  you  not  defend  a  dear  and  intimate  friend, 
no  matter  what  the  occasion?"  She  turned  and 
smiled  beseechingly  at  Mr.  Warwick,  who  now  came 


136  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

forward  and  asked  Mrs.  Gedbourne  civilly  not  to 
go.  The  green  hue  deepened,  however ;  and  Mrs. 
Gedbourne,  inplacable,  glided  from  the  room,  her 
husband  after  her. 

A  quarrel  with  the  Gedbournes  meant  much  to 
Mr.  Warwick ;  but  he  would  have  quarrelled  with 
anybody  for  Eileen's  sake.  For  weeks  he  had  lived 
only  for  her.  She  had  died  to  him  to-day.  Only 
as  a  defender  from  women's  tongues  could  he  ever 
exist  for  her  now.  Poor  darling  !  She  was  so  rare, 
so  exquisite  !  How  could  he  forego  the  right  of 
protecting  her,  of  removing  her  from  her  odious 
brother  and  his  odious  associates?  He  sat  down 
by  Mrs.  Maynard  after  the  guests,  stiff  and  awk 
ward  from  the  recollection  of  Mrs.  Gedbourne's 
wrath,  had  departed,  and  Mrs.  Maynard  noticed 
how  haggard  and  weary  he  looked.  "  Perhaps  you 
know,"  he  gasped,  after  a  pause,  looking  at  his 
hands,  "  that  I  am  a  rejected  suitor  of  the  lady  who 
was  so  foully  slandered  at  my  own  table.  It  was  a 
hard  position  for  me,  you  see;  I  am  afraid  I  be 
haved  very  ill.  This  quarrel  will  be  very  bad  for 
her — for  Eileen  —  if  the  thing  gets  about." 

Mrs.  Maynard  had  suspected  the  fact  concerning 
Mr.  Warwick  long  before.  "  I  do  not  pretend  to 
understand  the  girl,"  she  said ;  "  she  baffles  me  at 
every  turn.  I,  knowing  you  as  I  have  the  good 
fortune  to  do,  wonder  at  her  refusing  you.  She 
may  have  been  startled,  surprised  into  it." 

Mr.  Warwick  shook  his  head,  and  a  sad  smile 
flickered  for  an  instant  on  his  lips. 

"Well,  I  repeat,  I  don't  understand  her,  and  I 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  137 

truly  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you.  She  may  be 
the  very  person  in  the  world  to  have  made  you  most 
wretched." 

There  was  no  time  to  say  more,  for  Mr.  Maynard 
joined  them  just  then. 

That  night,  before  Mr.  Warwick  slept,  if  he  slept 
at  all,  he  wrote  —  wrote,  do  I  say  ?  —  he  dashed  off 
a  note  to  Eileen.  He  was  shaken  out  of  himself; 
he  hardly  knew  what  he  did.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  behaved  like  a  madman  or  a  school-boy. 
"  Eileen  darling,"  the  steady  old  banker  began,  "  if 
you  can  make  up  your  mind  to  bear  with  a  clod 
under  your  pretty  feet,  let  me  be  that  lump  of  earth. 
Let  me  be  your  slave.  I  cannot  bear  it  without  you, 
Eileen.  The  world  is  dark  without  the  sun.  Come  ! 
You  shall  live  on  a  golden  throne,  and  be  clothed  in 
diamond  stuffs.  Only  be  my  adored  wife  !  "  There 
was  more,  but  it  grew  worse  instead  of  better.  And 
when  he  had  traced  these  youthful  phrases  and 
signed  them  with  his  name,  had  sealed  the  envelope 
and  written  the  worshipped  object's  title  thereon, 
our  middle-aged  man  of  business  went  to  bed  from 
sheer  exhaustion. 

And  Eileen,  crying  as  she  did  so,  wrote  him  that 
she  could  never  be  his  wife,  only  his  truest  and  best 
and  most  loving  friend  forever.  Her  mood  had 
changed,  and  to  save  her  very  life  she  could  not 
have  said  yes  to  Mr.  Warwick's  frenzied  appeal. 
Better  filthy  rags  than  cloth  of  diamonds,  taking  all 
from  a  man  like  that  and  giving  him  nothing  but 
respect,  which  might  turn  into  hatred,  if  she  were 
tied  to  him.  The  sight  of  his  piteous,  agonizing 


138  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

love  would  have  chilled  her  marrow,  instead  of  firing 
her  with  a  like  passion. 

Jack  Beverley  trampling  upon  her,  and  she  tram 
pling  upon  Mr.  Warwick  !  What  a  criss-cross,  mud- 
dled-up  universe  it  was  !  she  thought.  Poor  Eileen  ! 
and  poor  Jack  !  and  poor,  poor  Mr.  Warwick  ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

rPHE  morning  Philippa  was  to  start  for  England 
•*•  came  at  last.  Of  course  she  had  not  slept ; 
and  of  course  she  was  much  excited,  in  a  tragic 
way.  It  was  necessary  to  egg  herself  on,  every 
moment,  with  recollections  of  Barney's  disgraceful 
behavior,  in  order  to  keep  up  her  courage  at  all. 
Often  and  often  she  had  been  on  the  point  of  break 
ing  down,  and  giving  up  her  project;  but  usually 
from  timidity  only,  and  not  from  any  failing  of  her 
purpose.  She  was  afraid  of  attempting  the  voyage 
alone.  A  woman  whose  husband  had  died  in  India 
and  who  had  been  left  destitute  there,  was  anxious 
to  get  back  to  England,  and  Philippa  had  engaged 
her  as  her  maid  for  the  passage. 

Of  Barney  in  a  sentimental  way  Philippa  would  not 
think.  Barney  had  treated  her  like  the  earth  be 
neath  his  feet,  and  the  earth  beneath  his  feet  had 
given  way ;  he  might  well  be  cast  into  the  depths 
beneath. 

Philippa  —  a  little  behind  time,  she  feared  — 
seated  herself  in  the  carriage,  and  gave  orders  to  the 
coachman  to  drive  to  the  Ghaut.  The  servants  had 
been  giving  her  some  slight  trouble  for  the  last  few 
days,  scenting  her  departure  in  the  air.  They  had 
approached  her  with  low  salaams,  and  begged  for 


I40  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

recommendation.  She  had  assured  one  and  all  that 
the  Sahib  would  be  back  soon,  and  that  he  would 
look  after  them.  They  were  not  wholly  satisfied, 
and  this  morning  the  whole  staff  was  out,  —  all  the 
bearers  and  khidmutgars  and  chuprassis,  —  even  the 
cook,  whom  she  had  never  seen,  with  his  scantily 
clad  minions,  —  the  gardeners,  grooms,  lodge- 
keeper,  washermen,  —  the  large  retinue  in  a  body, 
in  short ;  looking,  poor  Philippa  fancied,  as  if  they 
meant  to  be  troublesome.  It  was  nearly  the  end  of 
the  month,  and  their  wages  were  due.  She  had  not 
money  enough  in  the  world  to  pay  them.  They 
might  hinder  her  from  going.  How  foolish,  how 
foolhardy  she  had  been,  to  attempt  this  tremendous 
step  without  a  man  to  help  her  !  And  she  had  let 
Eileen  go  too.  There  was  nobody.  She  was  terri 
fied.  Several  naked  grooms  were  gesticulating 
rather  wildly  among  themselves.  The  coachman, 
one  of  the  most  loyal  of  her  retainers,  was  looking 
at  Lady  Barney,  only  waiting  for  her  signal  to  lay 
about  him  with  his  whip  ;  and  Philippa,  almost  faint 
ing  from  fright,  drew  herself  up  on  the  seat  and 
spoke  boldly  and  loudly  in  Hindustani.  "  I  am  go 
ing  away,"  she  said,  "on  a  visit.  The  Sahib  will  be 
back  in  a  few  days.  If  you  do  not  take  the  best 
care  of  everything,  you  will  not  be  paid  one  pice 
for  the  whole  month.  Go  on  !  "  And  the  coach 
man  flourished  his  whip,  and  started  up  his  horses. 
Two  of  the  disaffected  grooms  seized  and  held  them 
plunging.  Those  who  were  running  with  this  pair, 
and  who  were  already  at  the  gate,  hearing  the 
coachman  shout,  came  dashing  to  the  rescue.  A 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  141 

fight  now  followed ;  and  the  poor  woman,  white  to 
the  lips,  sat  as  if  petrified.  There  were  only  a  few 
disloyal  servants  among  the  others,  and  a  faithful 
Hindu  bearer  rushed  to  the  carriage  to  help  the 
frightened  creature  to  alight.  The  grooms,  who 
had  tried  to  impede  her  progress,  seeing  the  car 
riage  empty,  now  sneaked  away  to  the  stables.  It 
had  been  only  a  scare ;  none  of  the  others  had 
really  joined  in.  But  Philippa  was  afraid  to  try  to 
make  another  attempt. 

While  she  was  standing  upon  the  steps,  deliberat 
ing  the  most  dignified  and  at  the  same  time  severe 
course  to  pursue,  —  for  the  prestige  of  being  worsted 
was  a  fatal  one,  —  a  telegraph  peon  appeared  with  a 
despatch  for  her.  Philippa  opened  it  mechanically. 
It  was  from  Captain  Stanhope.  "  Barney  has  been 
badly  hurt  in  foot;  we  are  bringing  him  home." 
The  revulsion  of  feeling  which  shook  Philippa  was 
magical.  Barney  hurt !  What  if  she  had  gone  to 
England  and  he  had  died  from  neglect,  —  her  neg 
lect  !  Great  Heaven  !  How  near  he  was  to  her  now, 
she  knew  not,  but  the  first  thing  demanded  was  ac 
tion.  She  ordered  the  two  faithful  grooms  to  ride  to 
the  steamer  instantly  and  see  that  the  luggage  did  not 
get  off.  She  gave  the  coachman  orders  to  dismiss 
the  grooms  who  had  barred  her  progress,  and  to  call 
in  the  police  if  necessary.  They  were  skulking  in 
the  shrubberies,  and  were  immediately  driven  out 
with  blows.  So  much  for  example  !  Then  Lady 
Barney  singled  out  the  faithless  or  lukewarm,  and 
sent  them  away  too,  —  five  or  six  in  number.  She 
looked  like  an  avenging  goddess ;  her  face  was 


142 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


blazing.  Now,  to  get  new  servants,  a  nurse,  every 
thing  in  readiness  for  the  injured  man.  Eileen 
would  help  immensely  when  she  came. 

In  the  midst  of  the  confusion  Philippa  ran  to  her 
bedroom  and  fell  upon  her  knees.  How  grateful 
she  was  that  she  had  been  saved  this  wild  step  ! 
She  was  grateful  for  the  privilege  of  nursing  the 
scapegrace  who  had  run  away  from  his  home,  his 
wife,  his  responsibilities.  No  matter ;  she  had  very 
nearly  run  away  from  hers,  for  she  saw  now,  so  dis 
tinctly  that  it  almost  took  tangible  shape,  her  duty 
to  this  helpless  mortal,  her  husband.  There  was  no 
mistake  about  it  now.  Those  who  cannot  walk 
alone,  must  be  carried.  The  children  others  could 
look  after;  no  one  could  take  care  of  the  reckless 
father  but  herself.  This  was  her  lot ;  and  just  now, 
by  contrast  and  revulsion,  it  seemed  a  blissful  one. 
She  rose  and  dried  her  eyes,  for  she  had  wept  for 
joy  at  her  deliverance  from  evil  and  her  power  to 
forgive  him  who  had  trespassed  against  her. 

The  luggage  could  not  be  recovered,  the  syces 
reported.  The  steamer  was  off  when  they  got  there. 
So  Philippa's  clothes  had  gone  to  England  without 
her;  her  pet  pictures,  her  books,  all  her  pretty 
ornaments.  The  woman  who  was  anxious  to  go 
home  to  England  had  gone  too.  Well,  that  was 
lucky  for  her,  and  she  could  idle  all  the  voyage. 

Philippa  did  not  know  the  worst  yet.  She  did 
not  know  that  Eileen  was  at  that  very  moment  sail 
ing  away  in  the  "  Kaiser-i-Hind." 

While  Philippa  was  busying  herself  putting  matters 
as  straight  as  she  could,  —  and  she  positively  blushed 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  143 

when  she  realized  how  bare  of  woman's  comforts  she 
had  left  the  house  for  Barney,  —  Colonel  Beverley 
was  announced,  and  followed  the  announcement 
himself,  pale  and  wild  of  eye.  Philippa  was  only 
too  glad  to  hear  his  name ;  he  could  be  of  so  great 
assistance  to  her.  But  at  the  very  sight  of  his  face 
she  turned  sick  and  sank  into  a  chair.  Barney  was 
dead.  She  knew  it  all  now.  The  two  gazed  at  each 
other  in  silence. 

"  Tell  me  !  "  at  length  gasped  Philippa ;  "  I  can 
bear  it." 

"Telljy<?#/  "  said  the  Colonel,  in  a  tone  as  severe 
as  he  dared  use  to  Lady  Barney  Winterford.  "  Tell 
me!  What  does  it  mean?" 

"  End  my  suspense,"  she  cried,  "  I  implore  you  ! 
Let  me  know  the  worst.  Is  Barney —  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  Barney,"  answered  the 
Colonel,  his  sternness  hardly  relaxing.  But  he  did 
not  go  on,  for  Lady  Barney  Winterford  had  laid  her 
head  upon  the  arm  of  a  chair  and  had  fainted. 

Colonel  Beverley  shouted  for  ayahs  and  bearers,  who 
came  flying  wildly  in,  losing  their  heads  completely 
when  they  saw  their  mistress  white  and  still.  "  Pina- 
ka-pani,  juldi !  (Drinking-water,  quick  !)"  called  the 
Colonel.  And  he  himself  bore  Philippa  to  the  ve 
randa,  where  he  laid  her  down  and  fanned  her  vio 
lently.  It  was  some  time  before  she  rallied,  and  he 
spent  the  whole  morning  in  the  house,  afraid  to  leave 
her,  and  unwilling  to  go  away  until  he  had  found 
out  what  she  had  been  doing. 

For  it  had  been  Philippa's  work,  of  course,  send 
ing  the  girl  off  to  England  to  keep  her  away  from 


144  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

him.  Never  mind  !  He  would  get  leave  and  would 
follow  her  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  if  necessary. 
Nothing  should  balk  him  when  he  chose  to  accom 
plish  an  end.  When  Philippa  was  better  he  began 
to  sound  her. 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  of  Barney,"  he  said  gently. 
"  Are  you  specially  anxious  about  him?  " 

"  Yes,"  Philippa  answered.  "  Captain  Stanhope 
has  telegraphed  that  he  is  hurt.  I  expect  them  at 
any  moment.  I  wish  Eileen  would  come.  I  want 
her  to  help  me." 

Colonel  Beverley  started,  although  he  dared  not 
excite  her  by  saying  too  much.  Could  it  be  that 
Eileen  had  sailed  for  England  all  alone  without  a 
soul  knowing  it?  Perhaps  she  had  not  gone  ?  There 
was  no  doubt  about  that,  for  several  persons  who  had 
been  to  see  the  steamer  off  had  seen  her ;  and  Mrs. 
Gillespie,  at  whose  house  she  had  stopped  over  night, 
had  told  him  she  was  going.  What  could  it  mean  ? 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Gillespie  herself  was  an 
nounced  and  was  shown  up.  It  was  as  well  to  see 
everybody  this  morning.  Philippa  had  her  plans  laid. 

Now  that  the  responsibility  was  off  Colonel  Bev 
erley,  he  was  only  too  relieved  that  the  truth  was 
about  to  be  told. 

"  Lady  Barney,"  burst  forth  Mrs.  Gillespie,  "  you 
got  the  news  of  Lord  Barney  in  time  then?  How 
lucky  !  I  have  just  heard  it.  But  what  will  that 
poor,  dear  child  do  when  she  finds  you  are  not  there  ? 
Oh,  I  forgot  you  did  not  know  she  was  going  to 
England,  so  as  to  be  with  you.  We  tried  every 
means  in  our  power  —  everything  but  locking  her 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  145 

up  —  to  prevent  it,  but  she  would  go ;  and  now  you 
are  here  and  she  is  alone." 

Philippa  did  not  faint  this  time.  She  staggered 
to  her  feet,  a  little  tottering,  but  perfectly  calm. 
She  would  not  confide  in  Mrs.  Gillespie.  "  Eileen 
is  a  wild  madcap,"  she  said,  with  a  nervous  laugh. 
"  She  has  been  unhappy  and  discontented  lately, 
and  has  run  away,  naughty  girl !  We  must  telegraph 
to  Colombo  or  Suez  to  bring  her  back,  that 's  all." 
Her  heart  was  heavy.  It  was  not  so  simple  a  matter, 
after  all,  to  retrieve  a  misstep.  Roots  spread,  and 
branches  ramify,  and  things  are  out  of  one's  grasp 
before  one  knows  it,  and  —  for  Philippa  could  not 
forget  the  world  in  her  calculations,  although  a  few 
hours  before  she  had  defied  it  —  everybody  in  Cal 
cutta  would  know  in  twelve  hours  of  all  the  wretched 
planning  and  counter-planning  of  which  she,  the 
daughter  of  an  earl,  the  leader  of  Calcutta  society, 
had  been  guilty.  "  I  am  so  worried  about  Barney," 
she  said,  smiling  faintly  at  Mrs.  Gillespie,  "  that  I 
can  hardly  grasp  the  fact  of  Eileen's  disappearance. 
We  shall  miss  her  so  !  But  she  will  be  back  before 
long,  and  I  have  no  doubt  she  thought  I  was  going 
off  secretly  too."  The  mask  was  ill-adjusted  and 
came  near  tumbling  off,  but  Lady  Barney  held  it 
close. 

Mrs.  Gillespie  pretended  to  fall  into  the  trap. 
"  She  did  think  so,  really,  silly  child  !  "  she  said  \  "  but 
as  you  say,  we  will  have  her  back  and  undeceive  her. 
Now,  dear  Lady  Barney,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ? 
You  are  worn  out  with  all  this  excitement,  I  can  see. 
I  heard  of  Lord  Barney's  accident  through  a  man 
10 


146  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

who  said  Captain  Stanhope  was  at  Mogul  Serai  when 
he  sent  the  message.  Of  course,  they  will  be  here 
to-day  then.  Do  you  want  anything  done  ?  " 

Philippa  gave  some  directions  gladly,  and  the  two 
guests  departed.  Mrs.  Gillespie  offered  Colonel 
Beverley  a  seat  in  her  brougham ;  he  undertaking  to 
telegraph  Eileen,  of  course  in  Philippa's  name,  to 
return  by  next  steamer  from  Colombo  or  Suez.  To 
make  surety  sure,  he  sent  a  telegram  to  each  place. 
And  later,  one  of  the  Winterford  servants  sent  a 
second  despatch  relative  to  Lady  Barney's  luggage, 
which  Eileen  was  to  bring  back  with  her.  Poor 
Philippa  did  not  send  that  message  by  Colonel 
Beverley ! 

If  she  had  heard  the  conversation  in  Mrs.  Gilles- 
pie's  brougham,  however,  she  would  not  have  felt 
her  precautions  so  needful. 

"  What  a  wonderful  woman  it  is  ! "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Gillespie  to  Colonel  Beverley,  almost  before 
they  had  begun  to  move.  "  Lady  Eileen  was 
obliged  to  tell  me  the  story,  and,  of  course,  she 
thought  it  would  all  be  out  a  few  hours  later. 
Lady  Barney  Winterford  was  going  home  to  Eng 
land  without  letting  a  soul  know  —  why,  I  have 
no  idea;  and  Lady  Eileen,  who  was  uneasy  and 
worried  about  her,  and  anxious  to  lead  a  'useful 
life '  (little  goose !)  in  England,  hid  on  board, 
intending  to  surprise  her  sister.  I  do  not  pretend 
to  know  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  affair ;  there  is,  of 
course,  much  more  behind ;  but  it  is  wonderful  how 
that  woman  bore  herself,  worried  and  ill  as  she 
was  too.  You  know,  even  if  Eileen  had  not  told 


THE  B EVER  LEYS.  147 

me,  I  should  have  found  out  Lady  Barney's  secret ; 
for  we  ourselves,  when  we  took  Eileen  down,  hap 
pened  to  see  her  luggage  lying  on  the  pier  !  " 

"  I  would  n't  mention  it,  if  I  were  you,"  suggested 
Colonel  Beverley.  "  Barney  Winterford  is  a  black 
guard,  and  it  was  his  treatment  which  drove  his  wife 
to  such  a  step.  I  know  them  all  well,  and  Lady 
Barney  has  stood  until  she  can  stand  no  more.  He 
went  off  without  a  word,  and  left  her  without  a  rupee, 
I  should  be  willing  to  wager.  I  don't  like  her  going 
off  and  leaving  that  poor  girl,  though.  But  I  sup 
pose  she  was  desperate,  and  was  afraid  of  confiding 
her  secret  to  anybody.  It 's  a  rare  muddle  now, 
but  how  lucky  Lady  Barney  did  not  get  off!  It 
would  have  made  a  horrid  scandal." 

"  Oh,  horrid,"  answered  Mrs.  Gillespie.  "  But 
I  cannot  help  thinking  of  that  poor  thing's  simpli 
city.  Why,  all  her  pretty  things  were  taken  from  the 
drawing-room  !  There  was  nothing  but  chairs  and 
tables,  it  seemed  to  me,  —  none  of  the  thousand  and 
one  prettinesses  that  woman  has  always  had  about 
her.  Well,"  for  Colonel  Beverley  was  about  to  be 
dropped  at  the  Club,  "  do  let  me  know  further  de 
velopments.  It 's  a  most  thrilling  episode." 

Colonel  Beverley  dashed  up  the  Club  steps  and 
sent  the  despatch  to  Eileen  before  he  had  time  to 
breathe.  He  then  ordered  a  whiskey  and  soda  to 
clear  his  brain.  He  was  the  most  determined  man 
in  the  Indian  army.  This  girl  was  not  only  beautiful 
and  bewitching,  but  she  was  —  what  inspired  him, 
more  than  any  other  quality,  with  a  mad  resolve  to 
win  her  at  any  cost  —  she  was  baffling. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

'"TO  say  that  Eileen  was  aghast  at  Philippa's  non- 
•*•  appearance  is  to  use  a  mild  expression. 
She  was  seriously  alarmed,  not  knowing  the  cause. 
But  after  all,  she  thought,  Barney  might  have  arrived 
unexpectedly.  The  idea  of  hiding  in  her  cabin  was 
a  little  impracticable,  because  she  had  met  so  many 
acquaintances  face  to  face,  getting  on  board  ;  so  she 
put  on  a  bold  front,  bowed  and  chatted  to  everybody, 
and  talked  as  if  she  too  were  seeing  friends  off. 

The  scene  was  a  curious  one.  The  Hughli  was 
literally  crowded  with  vessels.  Besides  the  large 
steamers,  of  which  there  must  have  been  dozens, 
there  were  all  the  sailing-vessels,  many  of  them  with 
graceful  lines  and  lofty  spars  like  yachts.  Little 
steam-launches  and  larger  tugs  and  pilot-boats  were 
lying  there  or  puffing  up  and  down  the  river,  and  a 
P.  &  O.  steamer  arrived  from  England  while  they 
were  waiting.  But  the  most  curious  part  of  the 
scene  was  the  native  element.  Here  were  varieties 
Eileen  had  never  dreamed  of.  Some  of  the  native 
boats  are  dwellings,  like  canal-boats,  and  the  in 
habitants  are  more  like  Africans  than  the  ordinary 
Indian.  Now,  one  great  characteristic  of  Bengalis 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


149 


is  their  fondness  for  oil  in  the  toilet.  They  are 
rubbed  all  over  with  it  as  babies,  and  then  laid  on  a 
board  in  the  sun  to  dry  and  to  season ;  and  they 
love  it  ever  after.  Their  faces  shine  with  it,  and  it 
has  a  most  tidy  and  glossy  effect  upon  their  hair. 
These  boatmen  were  innocent  of  any  such  unguent. 
Their  hair  was  matted  with  filth.  Then  there  were 
hundreds  of  Hindus  on  the  banks,  going  to  bathe 
and  to  worship.  The  fat  Brahmins  sat  about  to  re 
ceive  offerings,  and  to  bless  the  worshippers,  and  to 
touch  up  their  faces  with  a  paint-brush.  Coming 
down  one  of  the  ghauts  or  flights  of  steps,  Eileen  saw 
a  strange  procession.  Two  natives,  followed  and  sur 
rounded  by  a  screaming,  howling,  surging  crowd  of 
black  men,  bore  in  their  arms  a  third,  —  an  old  gray- 
haired  man,  emaciated  and  feeble,  in  fact  dying. 

They  laid  him  flat  upon»  the  ground,  and  then 
proceeded  to  fill  his  mouth  and  ears  and  nose  with 
mud.  The  poor  moribund  started  at  first,  and  al 
most  rose  to  a  sitting  posture  ;  but  he  was  too  weak, 
nor  had  he  the  wish  to  resist.  In  a  few  moments 
the  struggle  was  over,  and  he  fell  back  dead.  This 
was  not  murder.  Oh,  no  !  This  was  one  of  the 
sacred  rites  performed  over  the  dying  Hindu.  If 
he  can  only  depart  in  the  full  flavor  of  holy  Ganges 
mud,  he  enters  paradise  purified  and  prepared  for 
the  pleasures  of  his  new  life. 

But  now  and  then  there  is  an  obstinate  invalid 
who  refuses  to  die  under  this  treatment.  Perhaps 
he  has  been  brought  too  soon  ;  perhaps  his  symptoms 
have  been  mistaken.  Mud  may  agree  with  him  ;  it 
may  have  been  the  one  thing  needed  to  call  back 


150  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

the  fleeting  spirit.  At  all  events,  be  the  reason  what 
it  may,  the  wretched  being  lives,  and  henceforth  is 
a  pariah.  His  estates  are  confiscated,  and  so  are 
his  wives  and  his  children.  He  is  worse  than  no 
body,  and  his  only  crime  is  living.  The  British  Gov 
ernment  has  reformed  nearly  all  these  abuses ;  and 
the  many  terrible  sacrifices  of  life  of  which  one  used 
to  hear  and  read  so  much,  —  like  the  burning  of 
widows,  the  throwing  of  infants  to  crocodiles,  and 
the  horrible  immolation  under  the  wheels  of  Jugger 
naut,  —  are  prohibited  under  extreme  penalties.  This 
other  custom,  however,  seems  to  have  been  allowed 
to  stand,  one  hardly  knows  why. 

While  Eileen  was  surveying  the  scene  with  mingled 
feelings  of  sadness  and  loneliness,  keeping  one  eye 
carefully  upon  the  gang-plank,  so  as  to  be  ready  to 
dodge  Philippa,  who  should  touch  her  on  the  shoul 
der  but  Mrs.  Maynard  ?  And  behind  her  was  Mr. 
Warwick.  The  Maynards  were  going  to  England. 
Eileen  could  not  help  feeling  a  mighty  sensation  of 
relief  at  the  thought  of  Mrs.  Maynard's  companion 
ship  on  board,  for  it  really  seemed  now  as  if  Philippa 
were  not  coming  at  all. 

It  was  the  first  time  Eileen  had  seen  Mr.  Warwick 
since  she  had  had  that  painful  interview  with  him  in 
Philippa's  drawing-room.  They  both  flushed,  but 
Eileen  put  out  a  timid  little  hand.  "  Are  you  going 
away,  Mrs.  Maynard  ?  "  she  said.  "  How  short  a 
time  it  seems  since  we  landed  at  Bombay  !  What  a 
delightful  voyage  it  was  !  "  If  Eileen  had  felt  sure 
even  yet  of  Philippa's  defection,  she  would  have 
gone  ashore  with  Mr.  Warwick ;  but  she  did  not  dare 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  151 

count  upon  it,  neither  did  she  dare  make  an  in 
vestigation,  for  fear  of  being  sent  back  by  Philippa. 

Mr.  Warwick,  of  course,  had  no  idea  she  was  going. 
"  Come,"  he  said ;  "  we  have  not  a  moment  to  lose." 
Just  that  minute  he  was  happy ;  it  was  something  to 
hold  her  hand,  and  lead  her  down  a  precarious  plank. 
She  looked  lovelier  and  dearer  than  ever. 

"Good-by."  she  said  to  him,  with  a  mixture  of 
sadness  and  shyness ;  and  then  looking  up  implor 
ingly  into  his  face,  she  said  fervently,  "  Do  your  best 
to  forget  me.  I  have  done  everything  ill  here. 
Perhaps  I  can  do  good  at  home." 

Mr.  Warwick  gave  Eileen  a  look  of  absolute  an 
guish.  There  was  no  time  for  even  a  syllable.  He 
raised  his  hat  to  both  ladies,  gave  Mr.  Maynard's 
hand  a  parting  grasp,  and  rushed  away.  Every  one 
of  these  shocks  was  greater  than  the  last ;  and  when 
he  fancied  himself  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  black 
gulf,  still  another  opening  yawned  and  he  sank  still 
farther  down.  As  he  fell,  rather  than  stepped,  into 
his  carriage,  he  shut  his  eyes  and  everything  swam 
before  them.  "  It  has  come  late  in  life,"  he  said, 
"  and  it  is  pain  such  as  I  have  never  known."  And 
then,  as  he  thought  of  this  headstrong,  wilful  child- 
woman,  allowed,  because  a  worthless  wretch  had 
once  flung  upon  her  his  blackened  name,  to  go 
through  the  world  protectorless,  sailing  now  by  her 
self  Heaven  knows  where,  to  fall  into  Heaven  knows 
what  new  hands,  he  shuddered.  It  was  keen,  horrible 
torture.  He  could  think  of  nothing  else.  He  felt 
himself  growing  feverish.  And  to  be  denied  action 
too  !  Oh,  how  could  he  go  on  heaping  up  worthless 


152  THE  B  EVER  LEYS. 

dust,  when  millions  would  cure  not  one  pang  of  his 
aching  heart !  The  only  ray  of  comfort  he  had  was 
his  confidence  in  Mrs.  Maynard  to  look  after  Eileen. 
She  would  do  so  for  Eileen's  sake,  for  her  own,  and 
for  his. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

T^ILEEN  stood  on  the  deck,  looking  after  Mr. 

•*-'  Warwick.  She  had  not  realized  before  what 
she  had  made  him  suffer ;  but  the  look  he  gave  her 
had  revealed  an  extent  of  misery  which  she  had  not 
thought  herself  capable  of  causing.  She  watched 
him  out  of  sight.  He  had  grown  thin,  she  saw,  and 
worn  and  ill ;  different  altogether  from  the  man  she 
had  first  met  on  shipboard.  "  Perhaps  I  am  his 
curse,"  she  said.  "  How  gentle,  how  tender  he  has 
been  with  me,  giving  me  a  soft  return  for  every  in 
sult  !  What  a  wretch  I  am  not  to  have  married  him  ! 
It  would  have  made  Barney  and  Philippa  and  papa 
happy,  and  him,  —  and  horrid,  good-for-nothing  me 
utterly,  hopelessly  wretched.  I  have  lost  the  oppor 
tunity  of  my  life.''^ 

The  steamer  got  off  in  time,  and  still  there  was 
no  Philippa.  Eileen  was  frantic  now.  She  told  her 
story  to  Mrs.  Maynard,  who  reassured  her  by  de 
claring  that  she  must  have  been  mistaken  in  her 
surmises.  "  Lady  Barney  might  have  decided  to 
give  up  housekeeping,  to  take  a  journey ;  but  that 
she  intended  sailing  to-day,  I  doubt." 

"But  I  saw  her  going  to  the  steamer  office," 
Eileen  urged,  "  and  her  initials  were  down  for  her 


154  THE  B EVER  LEYS. 

cabin."  That  did  look  odd,  certainly;  and  when 
the  indigent  female  appeared  who  was  to  administer 
to  Lady  Barney  Winterford,  and  whose  passage  had 
been  paid  in  advance  by  that  personage,  it  was  ad 
mitted  that  something  must  have  happened  to  keep 
the  lady  at  home  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  If  Barney  had  forbidden  her  coming  simply,  she 
would  have  come  just  the  same,"  said  Eileen ;  "  and 
if  Barney  had  coaxed  her  and  prevailed  upon  her  to 
stay,  they  would  have  sent  to  the  office  and  cancelled 
the  order,  and  they  would  have  told  this  poor  woman 
about  it,"  Eileen  argued. 

Eileen  only  hoped  that  Philippa  would  understand 
her  conduct,  and  know  that  she  had  not  run  away 
and  left  her  to  bear  the  brunt  of  Barney  or  of 
solitude. 

"  The  Gillespies  will  tell  that  part,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Maynard.  "  You  will  be  understood ;  but  Lady  Bar 
ney  will  be  horrified,  won't  she  ?  —  It  would  serve 
her  right,"  Mrs.  Maynard  added  mentally.  She  had 
no  patience  with  Lady  Barney's  proposed  desertion 
of  her  sweet  young  sister. 

The  lightning  current,  laden  \yith  sand  and  mud, 
bore  them  by  Garden  Reach  and  Diamond  Harbor ; 
the  turbid  yellow  stream  became  wider,  Fort  Gloster 
with  its  towers  and  its  hum  of  machinery  was  left 
behind,  together  with  the  villages  and  rice-fields  on 
both  sides,  and  they  entered  the  Bay  of  Bengal.  It 
was  a  crowded  vessel,  and  there  was  very  little  com 
fort.  Children,  and  ayahs  whose  voices  were  shriller 
than  the  children's,  swarmed  on  the  deck  and  in 
the  saloons,  and  made  life  terrible  on  board.  There 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  155 

was  one  family  of  six  returning  to  England  after  a 
long  residence  in  a  tea-growing  district ;  and  they 
were  like  half-a-dozen  Rip  Van  Winkles  of  assorted 
sizes,  coming  back  to  life,  Eileen  said.  These  chil 
dren  had  never  seen  anything  but  tea  and  natives 
and  their  father  and  mother,  and  they  were  almost 
stupefied  with  amazement  at  the  commonest  sights. 
Eileen  thought  she  could  have  borne  it  if  several 
more  had  been  stupefied  with  amazement  —  or  any 
thing,  for  the  noise  was  terrific.  There  was  a  tem 
porary  revenge  now  and  then,  when  winds  rose  and 
the  ship  lurched,  and  there  was  great  unhappiness 
among  the  small  fry  \  but  it  was  noisy  misery,  and 
afforded  no  real  respite.  The  tea-growers  aforesaid 
having  had  no  opportunities  of  conversing  except 
with  coolies  for  Heaven  knows  how  many  years, 
talked  all  the  time.  There  was  no  peace. 

Eileen  was  making  the  best  of  her  somewhat 
ridiculous  situation,  but  she  was  much  perplexed. 
She  had  meant  to  devote  herself  to  Philippa,  who 
had  done  so  much  for  her ;  but  without  Philippa  she 
could  not  go  to  the  old  Earl's  house  in  London, 
except  temporarily.  She  had  not  the  slightest  idea 
where  her  father  was ;  but  Mrs.  Maynard  eased  her 
mind  by  joyfully  offering  her  a  place  with  her  in 
London  as  long  as  she  could  possibly  stay.  So 
Eileen  let  the  future  take  care  of  itself  in  her  old 
way;  and  yet  she  pondered  and  was  serious  at 
times  in  her  new  way.  There  was  a  change  in 
her.  She  had,  to  Mrs.  Maynard's  joy,  taken  on  a 
shade  of  the  sadness  her  face  had  lacked  before. 
One  does  not  want  a  woman  who  has  suffered  to 


156  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

look  unchastened ;  it  is  a  duty  she  owes  her  friends 
and  the  public  to  show  her  grief  occasionally,  —  not 
long  enough  to  throw  a  gloom  over  society,  but  a 
little,  just  to  stamp  her,  so  that  one  may  read  her 
record  as  one  runs.  The  last  few  weeks  had  tem 
pered  Eileen's  gayety.  She  had  worried  a  good 
deal  over  her  brother ;  the  affair  with  Mr.  Warwick 
was  still  in  her  mind,  and  she  had  lain  awake  parts 
of  nights  thinking  of  Jack  Beverley.  A  good  deal 
more  sleep  she  had  lost  on  account  of  these  three 
men  than  her  wicked  husband  had  ever  cost  her. 
He  had  only  disturbed  her  comfort  and  roused  her 
anger.  , 

The  intimacy  between  the  two  women  thrown  to 
gether  so  strangely  for  a  second  time  throve,  ripened, 
and  bore  fruit.  Mrs.  Maynard  was  cautious  and 
slow,  preferring  that  Eileen  should  expand  gradually 
like  a  garden  flower,  rather  than  be  forced  like  an 
exotic. 

There  was  a  young  clergyman  on  board  the  "  Kai- 
ser-i-Hind," — an  earnest,  zealous  churchman,  who 
had  been  working  wonders  in  India.  Such  sermons 
as  his  had  seldom  been  heard  there.  His  was  a 
missionary  work ;  he  was  a  celibate  from  choice,  be 
cause  marriage  would  have  interfered  with  his  work. 
He  held  services  on  deck,  and  Eileen  was  deeply 
stirred,  as  she  fancied,  by  his  touching  and  inspired 
words.  This  young  man,  Edward  Mayne  by  name, 
sat  opposite  Eileen  at  table.  He  had  been  a  class 
mate  of  Jack  Beverley  at  Rugby,  and  had  seen  him 
in  India. 

"The  army  spoils  men,"  he  said,  "and  society 


THE  B EVER  LEYS.  157 

ruins  what  there  is  left ;  but  I  doubt  if  Jack  Beverley 
can  be  hurt  by  those  influences.  He  has  a  heart 
of  gold." 

"  Gold  is  hard,"  said  Eileen,  laughing.  "  I  don't 
think  any  young  man  is  proof  against  the  battering- 
rams  of  the  army  and  society.  Captain  Beverley 
is  like  other  men,  I  fancy,  —  unscrupulous  when  it 
pays  him  to  be  so,  honest  when  that  is  the  best 
investment." 

"  WomMi  have  no  right  to  expect  much  of  society 
men,"  he  said  gravely,  "because  they  demand  so 
little ;  at  least,  they  demand  only  one  thing.  The 
only  thing  they  resent,  it  seems  to  me,  is  neglect. 
A  man  may  be  full  of  vices,  and  women  shut  their 
eyes  to  %very  one,  until  the  weapons  are  turned 
against  themselves ;  then  they  rebel  and  rail  against 
the  sex,  which  they  themselves  have  refused  to 
improve." 

Eileen  had  no  parry  for  this  thrust.  "Women 
don't  know  much  about  men,"  she  replied  weakly. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  other,  "they  know  more 
than  they  pretend.  You  are  very  young;  and  yet 
I  have  no  doubt  even  you  wink  at  follies  in  men 
which  should  be  stamped  out  like  vermin.  Pure 
and  beautiful  women  often  do,"  he  said,  looking  at 
her  solemnly.  "  I  am  shocked  to  hear  them,  as  I  do 
sometimes,  gossiping  lightly  of  matters  with  which 
they  should  never  soil  their  lips." 

Sometimes  Mr.  Mayne  grew  very  eloquent,  and 
Eileen  and  he  paced  the  deck  every  evening  to 
gether  after  dinner;  he  evidently  feeling  that  he 
had  a  noble  mission  in  converting  her.  He  often 


158  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

brought  up  some  flaming  argument  which  silenced 
her  and  made  her  ashamed. 

One  night  Mrs.  Maynard  spoke  to  him  about 
Eileen.  "  You  are  doing  her  a  great  deal  of  good," 
she  said  to  him.  "  She  needs  to  be  taught  steadfast 
ness.  She  has  fine  impulses,  but  I  doubt  if  in  all  her 
life  she  has  stopped  to  think  more  than  a  minute  at 
a  time,  and  she  has  such  wonderful  capabilities  that 
I  long  to  see  them  turned  into  the  right  channel." 

"  I  can  do  such  a  woman  little  good,"  said  the 

% 

clergyman,  sadly,  "  and  I  sometimes  think  sh^  is  do 
ing  me  harm.  I  am  only  human,  andAe  fascinat 
ing  way  in  which  she  says  flippant  things  is^tat  a  YMV 
good  tonic  for  me.  She  is  not  trained  to  tKtgJtjftb 
does  thinking  appeal  to  her  as  desirable,  flrcept  for 
the  moment.  If  I  could  make  her  do  for  others,  I 
should  be  accomplishing  something,  —  I  mean  sys 
tematically.  I  know  she  is  kind."  For  as  he  spoke, 
Eileen  was  seen  soothing  and  petting  one  or  two 
forlorn  little  girls  whose  mothers  were  ill  or  flirting. 

"She  is  so  remarkable!"  sighed  Mrs.  Maynard, 
gazing  fondly  at  the  girl.  "  She  has  too  much  beauty 
for  her  temperament,  and  a  great  deal  too  much 
charm.  Half  as  much  would  have  done,"  she 
laughed.  "  She  is  wildly  admired  all  the  time,  and 
it  keeps  her  from  anything  useful." 

The  clergyman  turned  again  to  look  at  her. 
Eileen  was  sitting  in  a  swing,  with  a  child  on  each 
knee,  swaying  very  gently,  telling  the  little  girls  a 
story,  apparently.  She  was  looking  down  at  her 
charges,  smiling  and  fairly  dazzling  them  with  her 
luminous  face.  Presently  she  left  them,  and  came 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  159 

toward  the  two  who  had  been  discussing  her.  The 
light  had  entirely  faded.  "Well  done,"  said  Mrs. 
Maynard  ;  "  you  are  a  good  girl." 

Eileen  hardly  spoke  to  Mr.  Mayne.  She  took  a 
book  from  a  chair  and  went  and  sat  by  herself,  pre 
tending  to  read.  After  a  few  minutes  the  clergy 
man  strolled  away,  and  then  Eileen  came  back  to 
Mrs.  Maynard.  "  I  Ve  tried  introspection,"  she 
said,  "  and  this  is  what  it  has  done  for  me.  I  had 
to  acknowledge  to  myself  that  when  I  sat  with  those 
children,  pretending  to  amuse  them,  I  was  thinking 
>how  well  I  must  look  doing  it,  and 
i/*that  man  noticed  me.  I  also  forced 
fdmit  that  last  night  and  the  night  before, 
talking  religion,  I  was  posing  too,  and 
trying  to  make  an  impression.  Fine  creature  I  am, 
well  worth  your  interest !  I  think  I  shall  tell  Mr. 
Mayne  all  about  it,"  she  said,  hurling  the  book 
down  and  starting  up  ;  "  then  he  will  be  thoroughly 
disgusted  with  me,  and  I  shall  have  done  real  pen 
ance,  for  I  want  him  to  like  me." 

Mrs.  Maynard  smiled.  "  My  dear  child,"  she 
said,  "  you  are  rushing  to  an  extreme  now.  To  tell 
Mr.  Mayne  what  you  have  just  said  to  me  would  be 
to  complete  the  conquest  which  I  fancy  has  been 
already  begun.  An  original  penitent  like  yourself 
would  be  dangerous  even  to  a  man  like  him." 

Eileen  turned  on  her  heel  in  disgust,  and  Mrs. 
Maynard  did  not  see  her  .again  for  some  hours. 

Late  that  evening,  when  they  were  all  sitting 
together,  Mr.  Mayne  asked  Eileen  to  walk  with  him. 
She  hesitated,  but  could  hardly  refuse ;  so  they  strolled 


160  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

off  together.  Mr.  Maynard  saw  them  sitting  in  the 
moonlight  long  after.  Eileen's  face  was  in  the 
shadow,  but  the  young  clergyman  looked  sad  and 
pale.  He  left  Eileen  at  the  head  of  the  companion- 
way,  and  came  to  say  good-night  to  Mrs.  Maynard 
rather  wearily. 

"Have  you  converted  the  sinner?"  she  asked ; 
"  you  remember  our  talk  of  the  morning?  " 

He  looked  grave.  "  I  am  much  interested,"  he 
said,  not  noticing  her  question,  "  in  a  poor  old  wo 
man  on  board,  who  is  going  home  penniless  after 
years  of  life  in  India.  She  has  had  a  little  money 
raised  for  her,  but  that  will  not  hold  out  more  than 
a  month,  and  she  is  too  old  to  work.  I  perhaps 
can  find  a  place  for  her  in  some  asylum,  but  I 
doubt  if  even  that  is  possible." 

The  young  man  stayed  only  a  minute  and  went 
away.  That  night  in  his  cabin  he  prayed  for  Eileen 
long  and  fervently ;  but  he  prayed  longer  and  more 
fervently  for  the  old  woman  who  was  going  to  Eng 
land  a  beggar. 

Eileen  sought  her  berth  a  good  deal  out  of  sorts. 
She  had  thought  seriously  in  the  morning  of  making 
a  confession  to  the  young  priest ;  he  had  forestalled 
her  by  reading  her  a  long  and  dismal  lecture  upon 
her  shortcomings.  Eileen,  like  most  self-made  peni 
tents,  objected  decidedly  to  seeing  her  own  weap 
ons  turned  against  herself  by  the  hand  of  another. 
"  We  have  left  undone  those  things  we  ought  to 
have  done,  and  we  have  done  those  things  we  ought 
not  to  have  done,"  we  repeat  fervently  and  publicly 
ourselves ;  but  woe  betide  the  man  or  woman  who 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  l6l 

shall  an  hour  later  charge  us  with  having  deviated 
by  so  much  as  a  hair's  breadth  from  the  strict  line 
of  our  duty.  "  Instead  of  liking  me,  he  sees  through 
me  and  hates  me,"  Eileen  said  almost  bitterly.  "  I 
overrated  my  powers.  He  is  shrewder  than  I.  I 
deserve  it,  but  I  don't  like  it.  I  am  not  even  sin 
cere  when  I  say  I  am  sorry ;  "  and  she  recalled  a 
little  passage  which  her  aunt  had  written  in  her 
Prayer-book  long  ago  :  "  Beware  that  your  repent 
ance  is  not  a  repentance  to  be  repented  of." 

She  little  knew,  and  it  was  as  well  she  did  not 
know,  that  the  Rev.  Edward  Mayne  was  very  busy 
exorcising  an  image  of  dark  gray  eyes  and  golden 
hair,  and  upbraiding  himself  for  his  sin  in  having 
allowed  that  interesting  illusion  to  beguile  him  for 
one  instant. 


ii 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

E  morning  Mrs.  Maynard  and  Eileen  were  sit- 
ting  together,  —  Mrs.  Maynard  with  her  work, 
and  Eileen  with  her  drawing,  —  on  deck  in  a  favorite 
spot  of  theirs,  high  on  the  poop,  sheltered  from  the 
sun  by  the  double  awning  with  which  the  whole 
upper  deck  was  screened,  very  comfortable  indeed, 
with  books  beside  them,  from  which  flow  and  then 
one  of  them  would  read ;  soda-water  tumblers  near 
at  hand,  filled  with  lemonade ;  Philippa's  deserted 
handwoman  flitting  about  to  wait  upon  them ;  Mr. 
Maynard  and  a  few  devoted  Englishmen  running 
up  every  few  minutes  to  crack  a  feeble,  time- 
honored  P.  &  O.  joke,  —  Poor  and  Old  as  well  as 
Peninsular  and  Oriental.  It  was  the  time  when  most 
of  the  men  were  below  smoking  or  playing  vingt- 
et-un,  and  Mrs.  Maynard  was  telling  Eileen  a  part 
of  her  own  history. 

"  Let  me  guess,"  Eileen  had  said,  looking  eagerly 
into  the  other's  face,  "  whether  yours  has  been  a 
bright  or  a  sad  life.  I  guess  a  sad  one,"  she  added, 
lowering  her  tone,  and  lying  back  in  her  long  chair. 
"You  are  too  cheerful  to  have  had  an  altogether 
pleasant  life."  It  was  the  first  time  Eileen  had 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  163 

ever  employed  metaphysics  in  speaking  to  Mrs. 
Maynard ;  and  the  fact,  with  the  remark,  was  duly 
noted  by  that  lady.  "  Happiness  makes  most 
persons  cross  in  time,"  said  Eileen,  "  and  real 
trouble  either  crushes  or  excites.  My  sister  Phi- 
lippa  has  had  great  worry  for  years,  and  it  has  made 
her  hard  externally ;  at  heart  she  is  as  soft  as  a 
baby.  I  was  wondering  —  in  fact,  I  have  wondered 
ever  since  I  knew  you  —  what  it  was  that  has  made 
you  so  uniform.  I  should  think  it  would  take  years 
of  suffering  to  do  that." 

Mrs.  Maynard  was  struck  with  the  girl's  powers  of 
observation  and  of  inference.  "  It  has,"  she  said  ; 
"  that  is,  if  I  am  uniform,  as  you  call  it.  I  have 
had  years  of  trouble,  —  all  sorts  of  it,  —  death, 
disaster  whicn  was  worse  than  death,  injustice,  pov 
erty.  At  thirty  I  had  known  every  kind  of  woe. 
I  am  nearly  forty  now,  and  for  six  years  I  have  been 
surrounded  by  affection,  tenderly  guarded,  shielded 
from  the  world.  But,  Eileen,"  here  she  put  her 
hand  upon  Eileen's  arm,  "  the  care  came  too  late. 
At  heart  I  am  as  hard  as  a  stone  ;  not  as  regards 
others,  —  I  am  still  deeply  interested  and  moved  for 
everybody  in  pain,  —  only  as  regards  myself.  When 
I  was  young  and  malleable,  I  was  hammered  out  of 
shape.  I  shall  never  be  symmetrical  again.  Mr. 
Maynard  restored  my  faith  in  human  nature  to 
some  extent ;  he  is  the  best  and  sweetest  of  men, 
but  nothing  can  restore  the  original  fabric  when  a 
heart  has  been  torn  to  shreds." 

Eileen,  deeply  interested,  was  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair,  her  eyes  dark  with  animation. 


164  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

"Have   you   been   married  only  six   years?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  was  married  at  eighteen,"  Mrs.  Maynard  said, 
trembling,  "  to  a  boy  three  years  older  than  I.  We 
had  loved  each  other,  as  we  supposed,  from  our 
cradles ;  had  played  together,  our  parents  were  in 
timate,  we  were  considered  to  have  been  born  for 
each  other.  Each  of  us  had  a  small  fortune,  so  we 
could  be  married  without  waiting  for  my  husband's 
practice.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  the  day  be 
fore  our  marriage.  Our  devotion  to  each  other  was 
wild,  extravagant ;  one  could  not  live  for  an  instant 
without  the  other's  society.  I  was  perpetually  in 
terrupting  his  studies  at  his  office ;  he  was  always 
making  me  a  cause  of  offence  to  some  visitor  or 
relation,  by  dashing  in,  and  eitnef^>retending  to 
consult  me  on  some  important  errand,  or  dragging 
me  off  to  drive  or  to  walk.  Of  course  we  were 
both  hideously  jealous  of  shadows.  We  had  three 
children.  After  the  second  child  was  born,  I 
observed  certain  changes  in  my  husband.  He  was 
preoccupied,  absent,  often  away  for  hours.  I  re 
proached  him;  he  said  my  exactions  wore  him 
out,  —  mine,  when  he  had  absolutely  once  wept 
from  terror  because  I  was  half  an  hour  late  to  din 
ner  !  I  accused  him  at  last  of  preferring  some  one 
else.  He  rushed  from  the  house,  moved  by  what 
feeling  I  don't  know ;  I  thought  then  it  was  guilt. 
That  was  our  first  rupture.  They  grew  more  and 
more  frequent,  and  I  degenerated  into  a  tearful  in 
valid.  The  third  child  came,  and  then  I  took  an 
entirely  different  stand.  Dignity  came  to  my  res- 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  165 

cue.  I  affected  utter  indifference  ;  was  calm,  polite, 
almost  gay ;  went  out,  flirted,  and  in  six  months  he 
was  at  my  feet  again.  But  I  would  none  of  him. 
My  love  had  entirely  vanished ;  I  felt  nothing  but 
loathing  for  one  who  without  reason  had  suddenly 
turned  from  her  who  had  surrendered  her  reason, 
her  conscience,  with  her  being,  to  him.  I  did  not 
know,  then,  that  mad,  selfish,  unreasoning  love  con 
sumes  itself  in  time,  and  dies  of  starvation.  We  led 
a  horrid,  frightful  life  for  three  years ;  an  occasional 
passage-at-arms  the  only  break  in  an  existence  of 
outward  indifference.  Our  positions  were  reversed ; 
he  was  the  suitor  now,  I  the  flinty  one.  One  day  he 
came  home  very  ill.  My  heart  softened.  I  nursed 
him  as  tenderly  as  I  knew  how ;  but  he  died." 

Mrs.  Maynarcl,  after  the  first  tremble,  had  gone 
on  in  a  low  monotone,  as  if  she  had  nerved  herself 
to  the  task,  and  could  tell  anything.  Her  voice  had 
grown  a  little  hoarse,  and  her  throat  seemed  dry; 
but  she  pushed  away  gently  the  glass  which  Eileen 
offered  her. 

"We  had  been  living  on  our  poor  little  moneys, 
and  now  I  had  nothing.  I  said  I  would  rather  earn 
my  own  living  "  —  Eileen  gave  a  shudder  —  "  than 
depend  upon  any  one.  My  father  and  mother  were 
both  dead ;  my  brothers  had  their  own  families. 
It  is  quite  a  common  thing  in  America,"  Mrs.  May- 
nard  explained.  "  Marriage  settlements  are  almost 
unknown,  and  women  with  children  who  have  lived 
in  luxury  always  are  left  penniless,  every  day.  I 
taught  music  and  drawing,  and  we  somehow  existed. 
I  had  many  kindnesses  done  me  by  new  friends, 


166  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

and  many  rudenesses  done  by  old  friends,  —  the  usual 
experience  of  the  nouveaux  pauvres.  I  sold  my 
household  things;  and  the  very  persons  who  had 
raved  over  them  in  our  prosperous  days  turned  them 
over  and  over,  and  belittled  them  then.  Those  who 
had  treated  me  with  respect  and  deference  before, 
now  either  showered  me  with  rasping  advice,  or 
neglected  me  altogether.  I  suffered  a  good  deal 
in  my  native  town,  from  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  of 
course  that  was  nothing  to  the  mental  agony  I  un 
derwent,  going  over  the  past.  What  I  had  done, 
what  I  had  not  done,  —  oh,  to  this  day  I  shriek  aloud 
when  I  am  alone,  as  a  sudden  memory  seizes  me 
and  shakes  me." 

"You  did  right"  ejaculated  Eileen,  indignantly. 
"  You  need  never  fear  that  you  wtitoqg^ong." 

"  I  did  wrong,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard.  "  I  made 
many  mistakes  in  other  matters  too.  I  had  no  really 
sensible  adviser,  and  I  had  had  no  experience.  But  I 
have  not  told  you  half.  My  children,  one  after  the 
other,  were  taken  from  me ;  and,  Eileen,  I  thanked 
God  for  rescuing  the  dear  white  souls  from  lives  of 
poverty  and  its  concomitants.  Now  that  I  am  rich 
in  everything  else,  think  how  I  long  and  cry  and 
rend  my  heart  for  those  darling  babies ! "  Mrs. 
Maynard  could  not  go  on ;  her  last  words  were 
hardly  heard  for  choking  sobs. 

"  Oh,  don't,  don't !  "  cried  Eileen.  "You  shall  tell 
me  no  more ;  you  are  a  martyr,  a  heroine.  How 
thankful  I  am  that  good,  kind  Mr.  Maynard  came 
to  take  care  of  you  !  How  broken  you  must  have 
been ! " 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  167 

But  Mrs.  Maynard  had  hurried  away  to  her  cabin. 
The  harrowing  recital  had  been  too  much  for  her, 
and  she  appeared  no  more  until  evening.  She  had 
never  told  her  story  before. 

After  Mrs.  Maynard  had  gone,  Eileen  sat  for  a 
moment,  thinking,  when  she  was  interrupted  by  Mr. 
Maynard,  who  asked  for  his  wife. 

"She  will  be  back  in  a  few  minutes.  Will  you 
play  tcarte  with  me?"  asked  Eileen,  knowing  that 
he  was  perhaps  not  the  person  of  all  others  his  wife 
just  then  cared  to  see. 

"You  and  my  wife  are  great  friends,"  said  Mr. 
Maynard,  smiling  at  Eileen.  "  She  's  fonder  of  you 
than  any  woman  I  have  ever  seen  her  with.  She 
hardly  ever  gets  intimate  with  anybody." 

"  I  am  highly  flattered,"  said  Eileen,  smiling  back 
at  him.  She  was  deeply  grateful  to  him  just  then 
for  having  married  Mrs.  Maynard. 

"What  a  queer  medley  this  is  !"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Maynard,  looking  about  at  the  variegated  groups. 
It  was  growing  hot,  and  the  ladies  were  in  muslins  and 
bright  ribbons.  "  It 's  like  a  big  drawing-room." 

"  Say  rather  like  a  tenement-house  at  the  east  end 
of  London.  These  children,  some  of  them,  are  cuffed 
and  kicked  about  by  their  parents.  I  have  been 
amusing  a  whole  family  myself  this  morning,  who  were 
perfectly  overcome  at  a  kind  word.  That  woman 
over  there,  who  ogles  the  men  so,  has  come  out  to 
marry,  and  having  failed,  is  making  the  most  of  her 
last  chance." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  girl  on  board  the  '  Khe 
dive,'  who  came  out  to  marry  a  man  she  'd  never 


!68  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

seen?"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  laughing.  "If  we  didn't 
have  sport  over  her !  What  do  you  suppose  has 
ever  become  of  them,  eh?"  he  asked  Eileen. 

"Why,  we  don't  even  know  that  the  man  was 
found,"  said  Eileen.  "  He  sent  his  friend  to  repre 
sent  him,  you  know,  because  he  was  ill,  and  the  young 
lady  fell  into  the  substitute's  arms,  and  who  knows  but 
that  both  were  suited,  without  looking  farther,  and 
that  the  poor  fevered  youth  was  left  to  die  ?  To  tell 
the  truth,  a  girl  who  would  secure  a  husband  by  an 
swering  an  advertisement  would  throw  him  over 
in  a  minute,  if  she  got  a  better  chance,  —  don't 
you  think  so?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  shaking  his 

head.     "I  wish  I  could  find  out  w^at  happens  in 

<  ^v        1  *• 

these  cases.  I've  known  one  rrr^fgy  home,  in 
country  towns ;  but  they  were  elderly  people,  who 
were  just  mercenary,  and  one  or  the  other  always 
got  cheated.  I  got  a  letter  once  by  mistake,"  he 
went  on,  "from  a  woman  who  thought  she  was  answer 
ing  an  advertisement.  She  wrote  her  age,  complex 
ion,  disposition ;  said  she  was  affectionately  inclined 
to  the  right  one,  and  gave  a  description' of  her  house, 
the  room  she  was  sitting  in,  and  all.  Some  wretch 
got  her,  I  suppose,  robbed  her  of  every  cent,  and  left 
her.  It 's  a  shame  the  law  can't  protect  'em  ;  but 
they  make  their  own  ropes  to  hang  themselves  with." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  to  America,"  said  Eileen, 
"  not  because  of  the  advertisements,  but  because  I 
am  full  of  curiosity  and  interest  about  it,  especially 
now  that  I  have  known  you  both." 

"  There  are  a  good  many  Americans  in  England," 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  169 

said  Mr.  Maynard ;  "  that  is,  they  were  Americans 
once,  but  most  of  'em  have  forgotten  it." 

"  I  always  imagine,"  said  Eileen,  "  that  all  those 
women  who  have  married  Englishmen  must  have 
been  brought  up  in  England.  There  is  nothing 
foreign  about  them,  and  they  take  to  our  ways  so 
easily." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  "I  don't  know  how  it 
is ;  but  there 's  a  large  class  at  home  who  live  only  to 
be  thought  English.  With  some  of  'em  it  must  be  a 
struggle  pretty  much  all  the  time.  They  're  always 
making  mistakes.  I  don't  wonder  at  people's  improv 
ing  themselves  ;  and  if  they  think  an  English  accent 
is  better  than  their  own,  and  English  ways  than  ours, 
why,  let  'em  gqp^er  and  study  'em,  just  as  they  do 
French  and  CSerman.  But  why  they  should  make 
themselves  uncomfortable  and  ridiculous  by  pretend 
ing  they  were  'born  so,'  I  don't  see.  When  we 
were  first  married,  we  went  abroad,  and  Mrs.  May 
nard  thought  five-o'clock  tea  was  such  a  pretty  meal 
that  she  'd  introduce  it  at  home.  It  made  a  great 
sensation;  and  people  came  out  of  curiosity,  al 
though  most  of  'em  would  n't  spoil  their  suppers  by 
drinking  tea  an  hour  or  two  before.  Now  these  very 
people  can't  remember  the  time  when  they  did  n't 
have  dinner  at  seven  and  tea  at  five,  and  talk  as  if 
they  had  been  born  in  England." 

"I  hate  shams,"  said  Eileen,  forcibly;  "but  I  'm 
sure  there  must  be  some  genuine  persons  in  your 
country.  Your  wife,  for  instance,  —  there  is  no 
pretence  about  her,  and  couldn't  be." 

"No,    indeed,"    said    Mr.    Maynard,    decidedly, 


170  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

"  she  's  as  natural  as  the  day  she  was  born.  And 
there  are  lots  of  people  as  natural  as  she  is  at  home  ; 
but  the  other  class  is  growing  and  overshadowing 
the  whole  country.  I  dare  say  it  will  work  off  in 
time.  I  don't  know.  We  have  everything  English, 
but  I  can't  find  fault  with  that  always.  Our  car 
riages  are  better  than  they  used  to  be ;  we  import 
a  good  many  of  'em  from  England.  We  import  our 
coachmen  too,  and  our  liveries." 

"Liveries?"  cried  Eileen;  "do  you  have  live 
ries?  Then  you  have  distinctions  in  rank?  Surely 
not." 

"  Ah,  but  we  do,"  said  Mr.  Maynard.  ^pfc  don't 
know  where  we  get  'em.  I  wish^Bu  could  come 
over  to  America  and  see  how  ve|y  English  we  are 
in  some  of  our  large  cities." 

"  I  would  rather  come  and  see  how  American  you 
are,"  said  Eileen. 

Just  then  came  the  summons  to  luncheon,  and 
they  went  below.  That  night  there  was  dancing  on 
deck.  Eileen,  who  was  usually  up  to  most  things 
in  the  way  of  jollity,  hid  herself  for  a  time  ;  but  be 
ing  discovered,  declined  absolutely  to  dance,  on  the 
score  of  a  headache.  She  had  been  thinking  all 
day  of  poor  Mrs.  Maynard.  There  was  a  question 
she  longed  to  ask  her,  but  she  dared  not  renew  the 
subject.  Mrs.  Maynard  possibly  had  spoken  un 
guardedly,  and  might  be  regretting  it.  It  was  hard 
to  find  opportunities  for  tete-b-tetes  on  board,  but 
Eileen  longed  to  go  to  her  new  friend  and  hear 
more.  A  Mr.  Bartruffe,  a  barrister,  insisted  upon 
walking,  or  at  least  standing  by  her.  It  was  a 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  171 

magnificent  night,  and  they  were  at  the  very  bow, 
looking  up  at  the  sky. 

"Do  you  know  where  Mrs.  Maynard  is?"  asked 
Eileen,  abruptly,  of  the  young  man,  who  had  just 
paid  her  a  fulsome  compliment.  And  indeed  Eileen 
never  looked  more  beautiful.  In  her  light  dress, 
with  a  dark  blue  cloak  fastened  at  the  throat  and 
floating  open,  her  hair  a  trifle  disordered,  her  eyes 
big  and  dark,  her  lips  slightly  parted,  she  might 
have  been  a  Victory  such  as  the  old  Greeks  loved 
to  place  at  their  prows. 

Mr.  Bartruffe,  who  had  been  days  seeking  this 
opportunity,  and  who  was  very  comfortable  and 
happy,  answered  that  he  fancied  Mrs.  Maynard 
must  be  in  heffcabin.  He  had  not  seen  her  on 
deck  since  dinner. 

"  As  if  anybody  could  stay  in  those  stuffy  cabins  !  " 
said  Eileen.  "  Do  please  go  and  look  for  her  !  " 

"  You  must  come  with  me,  then ;  I  can't  leave 
you  here  alone,"  said  Mr.  Bartruffe,  rising  as  if  it 
hurt  him. 

Eileen  started.  Anything  to  be  rid  of  this  bore  ! 
They  found  the  Maynards  on  the  high  deck,  in 
their  accustomed  places.  Mrs.  Maynard  smiled, 
and  made  room  for  Eileen ;  but  Bartruffe  was  not 
to  be  dismissed  like  this.  He  sat  down  facing  them, 
feeling  aggrieved  at  Eileen's  treatment  of  him. 

"Won't  you  give  me  one  turn?"  asked  he,  at 
last.  "This  valse  is  delicious." 

"  I  told  you  I  would  not  dance,"  said  Eileen, 
wearily.  "  Do  go  and  ask  somebody  else  !  There 
are  quantities  of  girls  on  board." 


172  THE  B EVER  LEYS. 

"  It 's  an  imposition,"  laughed  Mrs.  Maynard,  "  to 
keep  that  poor  man  at  the  piano  all  night." 

"  Keep  him?"  ejaculated  Eileen;  "  I  would  have 
gone  on  my  knees  to  him  at  any  time  during  the  past 
four  days  to  beg  him  to  cease  his  jangling.  He 
has  played  incessantly.  I  wish  they  would  n't  put  a 
piano  on  deck.  It 's  a  premium  on  pounding." 

"  But  fancy  a  piano  below,  with  the  same  sort 
of  thing  going  on,"  laughed  Mr.  Bartruffe.  "  The 
babies  would  howl  louder  than  they  do  now." 

"  They  could  n't,"  answered  Mrs.  Maynard. 
"Those  in  the  cabin  next  me  put  forth  their  best 
efforts  at  about  three  in  the  morning,  when  even 
pianos  cease  from  troubling."  • 

"And  the  holystoning  has  n't  *begun,"  laughed 
Eileen.  "  I  wish  once  the  donkey-engine,  the 
washing  of  decks,  the  piano,  and  the  babies  would 
do  it  all  up  together,  and  let  us  have  a  blissful 
silence.  Luckily  we  all  catch  naps  in  the  day,  or 
we  should  be  insomniacs.  Last  night  there  were 
some  new  noises,  —  invented,  I  suppose,  for  fear 
the  shrieks  of  the  infants  should  have  become 
monotonous  and  lulled  us  to  slumber.  This  is  the 
noisiest  ship  I  ever  was  on." 

"  We  shall  be  at  Colombo  soon,"  said  Mr.  Bart- 
ruffe.  "We  stay  a  day  there,  I  fancy,  and  can  go 
on  shore  and  take  a  short  rest  from  all  this." 

"  I  shall  buy  tortoise-shell,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard. 
"  I  understand  Ceylon  is  noted  for  it." 

Eileen  suddenly  changed  the  current  of  talk. 
"  Mrs.  Maynard,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  you  were 
reading  a  tale  to  me  this  morning.  I  forget  whether 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  173 

the  heroine  really  lost  her  love  for  the  man  or  not ; 
did  she?  Excuse  me,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Bartruffe, 
"  but  I  have  been  longing  to  learn." 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Maynard,  in 
rather  a  faint  voice.  "She  did  despise  him,  I 
think,  for  a  time ;  but  when  he  was  ill  she  thought 
of  what  his  love  had  been,  and  forgot  everything 
but  the  past.  If  he  had  lived,  it  would  never  have 
been  the  same ;  they  would  have  drifted  back  to 
indifference." 

<f  Was  this  a  novel?  "  asked  Mr.  Bartruffe. 

"  No,"  said  Eileen,  "  it  was  not  in  a  book,  and 
it  is  too  long  to  tell  now.  I  ought  not  to  have 
introduced  it." 

After  they  had 'all  gone  below  for  the  night,  Mrs. 
Maynard  went  to  Eileen's  cabin.  Eileen  threw  her 
arms  about  her  neck.  "  I  have  thought  of  nothing 
but  you  all  day,"  she  said.  "Forgive  my  awful 
intrusion  to-night.  I  could  not  rest  until  I  knew. 
Then,  if  you  ceased  to  love,  you  did  not  suffer  so 
much  quite,  perhaps?"  Eileen  asked  as  if  to  end 
her  own  suspense. 

"  No  ;  perhaps  not,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard.  "  I  have 
never  quite  known  what  I  felt.  It  was  a  strange 
thing.  One  cannot  criticise  those  who  are  gone. 
I  don't  know  why  I  told  you,  dear  child,  such  a 
horrible  story.  But  you  surprised  me  into  it  by 
reading  my  history  so  wonderfully  in  my  face.  I 
have  no  such  gift  in  your  case.  I  read  nothing  but 
innocent  mirth  in  yours,  and  yet  I  know  you  have 
not  always  been  happy." 

"  Happy?  "  cried  Eileen,  looking  into  her  friend's 


174  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

face  with  a  look  of  something  like  horror,  —  "  happy? 
I  have  no  story,  —  nothing  but  a  jumble,  a  patchwork 
of  disordered  thoughts  and  unkempt  actions.  My 
one  mania  has  always  been  to  be  amused  or  to 
amuse  myself;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  hardly 
ever  done  it.  I  am  full  of  animal  spirits.  I  have 
to  do  something  all  the  time,  every  minute,  to 
keep  myself  from  bubbling  over,  like  a  kettle,  and 
scalding  somebody.  I  committed  a  frightful  sin  in 
running  away,  against  everybody's  wishes  and  my 
own  better  judgment,  to  be  married.  I  hope  I  have 
been  the  greatest  loser  by  it.  As  for  suffering,  I 
did  not  know  it  as  you  did.  I  would  not  suffer ;  I 
would  not  think.  I  loved  my  yoath ;  I  knew  that 
without  it  I  should  command  no  sympathy,  no 
admiration.  I  would  not  worry.  I  did  not  care 
so  very  much.  I  used  to  wish  something  would 
come  to  end  my  ghastly  life.  Something  came ; 
but  even  then  I  shut  my  eyes  to  the  worst.  I  had 
been  faithful  —  to  the  shifting  sands,  to  be  sure,  but 
still  faithful.  I  had  been  truthful  to  falsehood.  I 
never  pretended  for  one  instant  to  like  what  I 
loathed.  I  did  not  complain  when  I  knew  that  at 
any  moment  I  might  be  houseless,  roofless.  I  was 
glad  when  I  was  free.  I  was  absolved  from  every 
thing  ;  in  fact,  nothing  need  have  been  demanded 
of  me  from  the  first.  But  do  not  pity  me.  I  did 
not  suffer;  I  writhed  and  winced,  and  dodged  my 
misfortunes,  that  was  all,  —  my  punishment,  rather. 
The  greatest  grievance  I  have  had  for  years  has 
been  to  bear  the  name  of  Beaufort.  I  don't  know 
why  I  was  so  callous  when  I  was  younger,  and 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


175 


should  have  been  more  impressionable.  So  much 
slighter  events  make  so  much  deeper  marks  upon 
me  now." 

"  You  and  I  have  made  strange  confidences  to 
each  other,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard.  "  I  used  to 
anticipate  our  deep  intimacy ;  but  circumstances  were 
against  us  —  me,  I  mean  —  for  a  time.  I  will  tell 
you  why  you  were  callous,  as  you  call  it,  when  you 
were  younger.  Your  nature  was  not  awakened. 
The  key  had  not  been  found.  A  rude  hand  tried 
to  force  the  lock,  and  failed.  With  me  it  has  been 
the  reverse.  I  was  stirred  in  those  early  days ;  I 
did  love,  passionately,  madly.  The  love  of  your  life 
is  yet  to  come ;  I  feel  it." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Eileen,  blushing ;  "  I  shall  not 
love.  I  wish  I  knew  what  I  am  going  to  do,  all 
through  this  long  life  which  yawns  before  me,  big 
and  empty,  like  a  tunnel.  I  do  not  care  for  any 
thing  but  riding  and  admiration,  that 's  the  truth ; 
and  one  of  these  is  laid  behind  me.  Tell  me,"  she 
cried  suddenly,  "  what  can  I  do  ?  There  must  be 
something  useful  even  an  idiot  can  turn  her  hand 
to.  If  you  could  suggest  something  with  a  little  open 
air  in  it,  I  might  stick  to  it  longer." 

"Why,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard,  almost  abruptly  for 
her  usual  gentle  manner,  —  "  why  can  you  not  marry 
Mr.  Warwick?"  The  same  old  question!  Eileen 
did  not  change  color.  "  He  is  a  fine  creature," 
Mrs.  Maynard  said  simply. 

"  Wonderful !  I  don't  know  why  I  can't.  I  am 
rather  fastidious  about  men,  and  something  about  him 
—  some  trifling  thing  —  turned  me  a  little  against  him 


176  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

at  first,  I  think.  Then  I  heard  my  brother  and  his 
friends  laughing  about  him,  and  —  oh,  I  don't  know, 
he  grew  ridiculous  to  me,  before  I  knew  him.  I 
like  him  now,  I  admire  him,  I  do  everything  but  the 
right  thing.  I  offered  once  to  marry  him,  but  my 
reason  was  an  insult.  He  bore  my  insolence  like  a 
lamb  too.  I  hope  he  will  hear  the  horrid  things 
Calcutta  people  say  of  me,  even  if  they  are  not  true. 
Those  may  change  him,  if  nothing  else  will." 

"  Don't  depend  upon  '  things  people  can  say ' 
changing  a  man  like  that,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard,  with 
a  tender  smile.  "  I  am  very  anxious  about  him." 

"  Coming  away  was  the  best  thing  I  could  do  for 
him,"  said  Eileen,  thoughtfully.  "  I  hope  he  will  for 
get  me.  I  never  tried  to  fascinate  him  ;  I  did  not. 
He  never  occurred  to  me  as  a  possible  lover." 

"  No,  no,  I  know  that,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maynard, 
hastily.  "  There  is  nothing  to  reproach  yourself  with. 
If  you  could  n't  marry  him,  you  could  n't.  I  only 
wish,  for  both  your  sakes,  you  could.  He  is  as  true 
as  steel — and,  oh,  so  pathetic  !  " 

"  I  wish  he  had  n't  been  pathetic,"  said  Eileen. 
"  One  can't  marry  that  kind  of  pathos.  It  is  manly, 
I  suppose,  but  one  would  far  rather  see  a  man  fly  into 
a  fury  than  be  meek  through  everything.  Am  I 
awfully  wicked  ?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

Eileen  sat  thinking  after  this  talk.  She  had  never 
felt  more  discouraged.  To  have  lived  a  long  life  of 
failure,  —  that  was  simple  enough  ;  thousands  do  that, 
poor  wretches  !  But  to  be  young,  handsome,  fasci 
nating;  to  have  been  married,  widowed,  without 
much  suffering ;  to  be  different  from  young  girls,  dif- 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  177 

ferent  from  wives,  different  from  widows ;  to  be 
pointed  at  as  careless,  even  wild,  when  she  meant 
no  harm ;  and  hardest  of  all  not  to  care  at  all  about 
anything,  —  that  was  her  fate.  "  At  forty  /  shall 
be  —  what  ?  Perhaps  fat,  perhaps  a  spectre ;  but 
always  a  restless,  dissatisfied  fool !  "  Eileen  was  hav 
ing  a  serious  time  with  herself. 

"  Let  us  talk  more  about  you  in  the  morning," 
Mrs.  Maynard  said  affectionately,  taking  the  girl's 
ludicrously  forlorn  face  in  both  her  hands,  and 
stooping  to  kiss  it.  Eileen  sat  on  the  floor,  a  de 
jected  heap.  "  There  is  plenty  of  work  for  you  to 
do,  —  good,  easy  work,  too,  with  your  powers.  You 
have  a  wand  before  which  men  —  and  women,  too 
—  fall.  It  needs  a  little  guiding,  that  magic  stick ; 
that's  all." 

Eileen  gazed  wistfully  at  her  new  friend.  "  If  I 
know  what  you  mean,  I  must  have  done  with  that 
kind  of  '  work,'  "  she  said  sadly.  "  You  have  no 
idea  with  what  loathing  I  regard  all  that  I  have  done 
heretofore.  And  yet  even  my  resolutions  are  made 
in  defiance,  in  desperation.  I  feel  sure  I  shall  hate 
even  your  advice,  and  go  my  own  way,  and  come  to 
grief.  What  does  it  all  come  to  in  the  end?  " 

The  same  old  question,  asked  by  despairing 
men  and  women  every  day  !  It  was  the  "  youngest  " 
thing  Eileen  had  ever  said  to  Mrs.  Maynard ;  and  it 
betrayed  the  fact  that  old  and  weary  as  Eileen's 
phrases  often  sounded,  her  youth  still  claimed  her. 
It  was  a  hopeful  outlook  for  both  women,  Mrs.  May 
nard  thought.  She  determined  to  take  Eileen  with 
her  to  America,  if  it  could  be  managed.  If  she 

12 


178  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

were  really  as  poor  as  she  talked,  Mrs.  Maynard 
thought  she  might  be  made  more  self-satisfied  (in 
its  best  sense)  by  some  sort  of  real  work.  Her  pen- 
and-ink  sketches  and  caricatures  were  excellent. 
She  might  do  something  with  those.  But  then  Mrs. 
Maynard  reflected  that  poverty  in  England  —  or 
among  the  best  Irish,  which  is  the  same  thing — was 
only  comparative.  She  had  heard  a  man  complain 
ing  bitterly  of  extreme  poverty,  and  had  discovered 
that  his  income  was  larger  than  the  average  well-to- 
do  clerk  in  America,  and  that  he  was  only  "  poor  for 
a  peer,"  as  he  expressed  it.  Eileen  might  have 
plenty  to  live  on  if  her  ideas  could  be  subdued  a 
little.  Then,  too,  Mrs.  Maynard  had  not  counted 
upon  the  horror  with  which  her  suggestion  would 
be  regarded  by  Eileen's  family.  Marrying  a  black 
leg  was  not  half  the  disgrace  earning  sixpence  would 
be,  to  a  woman ;  and  Eileen  herself  might  share  that 
popular  prejudice.  It  would  be  necessary  to  take 
soundings  at  every  step,  and  cautiously.  Mrs.  May 
nard  was  happier  than  she  had  been  for  months, 
years,  believing  that  she  was  going  to  be  busy. 
Eileen  was  poor,  at  any  rate,  if  not  financially. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

TT  was  a  bright,  fresh  morning  when  they  reached 
Colombo.  The  long  jetty  stretched  far  away 
before  them.  The  green  grass  and  trees  looked  en 
ticing  to  the  shipworn  travellers,  for  the  first  week 
is  always  the  longest  at  sea.  Eileen,  as  well  as  the 
others,  was  wild  to  set  her  foot  on  shore,  and  Mr. 
Maynard  had  promised  her  that  she  should  have  a 
horse  to  ride  at  once.  But  a  telegram  was  handed 
her  on  board,  sent  from  the  Company's  office. 

It  was  from  Philippa.  "  Barney  hurt,  but  not 
dangerously.  Come  back  at  once  ! "  and  signed 
"  Philippa  Winterford." 

This,  then,  was  the  explanation ;  but  she  did  not 
require  it  now.  Barney,  poor  Barney,  hurt,  —  ribs 
crushed,  perhaps,  legs  broken,  arms,  —  oh  !  what 
could  it  be  ?  If  she  could  only  know  !  Go  back  ? 
Of  course  she  must  fly  back.  She  rushed  to  the  May- 
nards,  to  the  captain.  The  "  Bhopal,"  with  her  blue 
Peter  flying  at  the  fore,  was  getting  up  steam,  and 
would  be  off  for  Calcutta  in  an  hour.  How  lucky  ! 

The  Maynards  helped  her  pack  her  few  little  cabin 
things,  her  boxes  and  Philippa's  were  lugged  and 
banged  up  from  the  hold,  and  Eileen,  clinging  to 
Mrs.  Maynard,  at  last  tore  herself  away.  She  had 


l8o  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

found  a  treasure  in  this  sympathetic  friend,  this 
priceless  adviser.  It  was  hard  to  lose  her,  now 
that  she  herself  was  just  beginning  to  improve ;  for 
Eileen  had  no  confidence  in  her  own  resolutions, 
and  she  knew  that  the  very  moment  she  got  back 
to  that  odious  Calcutta,  she  should  backslide. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"DHILIPPA  had  not  many  hours  of  suspense ;  her 
•*•  anxiety  for  Barney  was  almost  swallowed  up  in 
her  new  anxiety  about  Eileen.  What  must  she  not 
be  suffering  alone  on  board  ship,  thinking  her  per 
haps  treacherous,  at  least  weak  and  vacillating? 
Poor,  dear,  faithful  Eileen  !  How  many  times  Phi- 
lippa  saw  those  pathetic  eyes  glowing  before  her  ! 
She  admitted  now  that  Eileen  had  certainly  im 
proved  of  late  ;  and  she,  —  what  had  she  done  ? 
Nothing  but  repel  and  chill  and  at  last  forsake  her. 
"  I  did  not  think  Eileen  was  a  finer  woman  than  I," 
her  thoughts  said.  "  I  have  no  very  high  opinion 
of  myself,  but  I  did  think  I  was  her  superior.  She 
is  infinitely  mine."  Then  a  fresh  shock  and  a  new 
sinking  at  heart  overcame  her  as  she  pictured  Barney 
horribly  injured,  dying  or  dead.  How  could  she  see 
him  brought  in?  She  sat  and  waited.  Barney's 
bedroom  was  in  beautiful  order.  If  he  were  not 
bad  enough  to  be  in  bed  long,  her  own  sitting-room 
should  be  his.  Alas  !  it  was  a  desolate  spot,  this  love 
liest  of  boudoirs,  now. 

In  time  Colonel  Beverley  arrived  with  a  telegram. 
The  party  must  be  following  it  closely.  "  Barney 
was  bitten  in  the  foot  by  a  pig,  it  seems,"  said 


182  THE  SEVER  LEYS. 

Colonel  Beverley  to  her.  "  The  bite  did  not  seem 
poisonous  at  first,  but  there  is  a  good  deal  of  fever, 
and  they  will  have  to  take  him  immediately  to  the 
hospital." 

Philippa  and  Colonel  Beverley  started  at  once ; 
and  by  the  time  arrangements  were  made,  the  poor 
sinner  arrived.  He  was  haggard,  unshaven,  drowsy 
from  opiates,  and  carried  on  a  stretcher.  It  was 
necessary  now  to  amputate  the  foot  at  once,  in  order 
to  save  his  life.  Philippa  knelt  by  his  side  and  kissed 
his  hands,  his  white  forehead,  his  lips,  passionately. 
Barney  was  suffering  every  instant,  and  had  been  for 
forty-eight  hours,  Captain  Stanhope  said.  The  first 
words  he  uttered  were  not  altogether  satisfying,  but 
they  were  words,  and  that  was  something.  "  Stan 
hope  's  a  brick  !  "  murmured  Barney,  looking  fondly 
into  his  wife's  face,  then  sinking  into  stupor. 

The  operation  was  not  performed  a  moment  too 
soon.  Well,  Barney  was  a  cripple  now.  It  was  a 
choice  between  cripple  and  corpse.  What  a  fright 
ful,  never-ending  time  it  seemed  to  Philippa  !  The 
two  men,  Beverley  and  Stanhope,  hardly  left  the 
place.  Philippa  felt  herself  under  everlasting  obli 
gation  to  them  both.  After  the  first  bad  days  were 
over,  Barney  was  taken  home,  and  there  he  was 
nursed  and  amused  and  petted  to  his  heart's  con 
tent.  Philippa  was  almost  gay  in  her  relief.  Stan 
hope  seemed  full  of  regret  and  of  real  affection  for 
the  sick  man ;  and  Colonel  Beverley  made  himself 
a  great  deal  more  agreeable  than  he  felt.  He  was 
biding  the  time  when  Eileen  should  be  back,  and 
he  should  have  his  reward. 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  183 

The  first  conversation  Barney  and  his  wife  had 
was  one  day  in  the  hospital  when  Barney  was  still 
light-headed  from  the  chloroform  and  still  suffering 
great  pain.  He  looked  always  tenderly  and  grate 
fully  at  his  wife  now,  and  every  look  brought  a  blush 
to  her  cheek  when  she  thought  of  her  wickedness. 
"  I  can  see  a  halo  round  your  head,  Flip,"  he  said ; 
"  you  are  a  saint." 

She  put  her  hand  over  his  lips.  "  Hush,  Barney, 
you  don't  know  me,"  she  replied. 

"Where  's  Eileen?  "  he  asked  abruptly.  "  Why 
has  n't  she  been  to  see  me  ?  " 

Philippa  grew  crimson.  "  She  will  be  here  soon, 
darling,"  she  said.  "  She  is  away  now." 

"  Away  !  Where  ?  There 's  nowhere  to  go  at 
this  time  of  year.  Everybody's  here." 

"  I  am  forbidden  to  talk  to  you  now,"  said  Phi 
lippa.  "  Eileen  will  be  here  soon,  and  I  will  tell  you 
everything  as  soon  as  I  can." 

Barney  shut  his  eyes.  He  held  Philippa's  hand 
tightly  when  his  eyes  were  shut.  "  I  don't  want  to 
let  you  go  again,  and  when  I  can't  see  you  I  must 
feel  you,"  he  said. 

Philippa  was  happier  than  she  had  ever  been  in 
her  life.  A  new  day  had  dawned  for  her.  Barney 
had  been  snatched  from  death,  and  he  was  dearer 
than  all  the  world  to  her.  What  she  had  called 
worthlessness  before  was  helplessness  now.  He 
should  never  know  the  loss  of  his  foot,  for  she  would 
be  his  staff. 

As  for  Barney,  he  had  not  changed  as  much  as 
Philippa  thought.  He  was  somewhat  in  the  condi- 


184  THE  BEVERLEYS, 

tion  of  a  child  who  has  done  a  naughty  act  and  been 
so  injured  in  the  doing  that  his  guilt  is  lost  sight  of 
in  joy  at  his  sparing ;  so  petting  takes  the  place  of 
punishment.  It  was  very  nice  and  comfortable  to 
feel  that  instead  of  averted  looks  and  haughty  words 
he  got  only  sweet  devotion.  He  was  sorry,  and 
said  so,  for  his  escapade ;  yet  he  said  that  more  to 
make  Philippa  happy,  than  from  motives  of  deep 
contrition,  for  he  honestly  thought  he  had  been 
driven  from  home  by  cruelty.  And  then  he  had 
suffered  so  too.  It  was  easy  to  forgive  this  loving 
minister,  however,  and  he  felt  at  peace  with  all  the 
world  when  once  his  pain  had  stopped.  When  that 
was  on,  nothing  else  troubled  him  at  all. 

When  he  realized  what  life  would  be  to  an  ath 
letic,  out-of-door  man  without  a  foot,  —  or  with  one, 
rather,  —  he  was  not  so  patient ;  and  there  were 
days  and  weeks  of  irritability  yet  to  come. 

It  seemed  to  Philippa  and  to  Colonel  Beverley 
that  Eileen  would  never  get  back.  One  day,  after 
Barney  was  settled  at  home  again,  she  came,  look 
ing  a  little  sunburned,  a  little  tired,  very  anxious. 
Philippa  flew  down  the  stairs  to  meet  her,  and  her 
first  syllable  was  that  of  an  apology.  "  Forgive  me, 
dear  sister  !  "  she  said,  with  tears ;  and  Eileen  hugged 
her  and  kissed  her,  and  smiled  radiantly  and  glori 
ously,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  sun  which  had  strug 
gled  through  the  clouds  lately,  was  shining  now 
indeed  full  upon  the  head  of  the  poor  woman,  who 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life  was  humbling  herself. 

Colonel  Beverley  had  met  Eileen  and  brought  her 
home,  and  in  the  carriage,  feeling  that  a  moment's 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


I85 


-delay  might  be  dangerous  and  that  he  had  borne 
enough,  he  had  declared  himself  to  her.  He  had 
told  her  of  Barney  first,  —  every  scrap  of  detail  she 
had  demanded ;  he  had  told  her  of  Philippa,  —  how 
bravely  she  had  borne  up  and  how  much  happier 
she  seemed ;  and  then  he  had  told  her  of  himself. 
It  annoyed,  confused,  and  enraged  Eileen.  It  was 
a  horrid  time  to  think  of  such  things,  much  less  to 
speak  of  them. 

"  There  are  no  '  horrid  times '  for  telling  you  I 
love  you,"  said  Colonel  Beverley,  fervently,  realiz 
ing  how.  ridiculous  his  words  were,  even  at  that 
moment.  "  I  think  of  you  every  instant.  I  have 
suffered  agony  ever  since  you  left  me.  If  you 
had  gone  on  to  England,  I  should  have  followed 
you.  •  -You  cannot  get  away  from  me,  from  my  love. 
It  will  always  envelop  you.  I  will  not  say  another 
word  to  you  now.  Take  time  to  let  me  know  my 
fate,  but  remember  my  last  breath  on  earth  will  be 
the  one  with  which  I  shall  renounce  you."  He  was 
a  magnificent  lover ;  even  Eileen  had  to  admit  that. 
He  did  not  try  to  touch  even  her  hand.  He  gazed 
at  her  with  intense  longing  at  first ;  then,  as  his  words 
grew  more  serious,  his  eyes  grew  more  fateful,  and  he 
turned  away  from  her.  He  wore  a  fixed  gaze,  then, 
that  was  almost  appalling. 

What  a  superb  enemy  he  would  make  !  The  old 
devil  stirred  in  Eileen,  and  she  thought  for  an  in 
stant  how  interesting,  how  much  more  picturesque 
than  marriage,  life  would  be  with  a  man  like  that, 
following  one  about  the  world  with  those  great  eyes 
transfixing  one  wherever  one  went  and  never  losing 


1 86  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

sight  of  his  aim.  A  man  who  could  be  gloomy  over 
one,  —  oh,  how  much  finer  than  the  lovesick  kind  ! 
And  in  her  naughty  heart  she  made  comparisons 
between  this  man  and  Mr.  Warwick.  Where  was 
Mrs.  Maynard's  heart-broken  penitent  now? 

Colonel  Beverley  spoke  again.  "  Let  us  say 
nothing  more  about  this  for  a  few  days,"  he  said ; 
"  only,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  shun  me  !  Let  me 
be  near  you,  with  you.  I  am  accustomed  to  do  all 
sorts  of  things  for  the  Winterfords ;  so  it  will  be  per 
fectly  natural  if  I  do  them  still." 

"  Go  on  doing  whatever  you  like,"  said  Eileen, 
shutting  her  eyes.  rt  I  am  not  in  the  mood  nor  the 
state  of  mind  for  this.  I  don't  know  what  to  say, 
and  I  don't  want  to  say  anything.  I  am  surprised 
and  overcome.  I  did  n't  know  you  cared  for  me, 
and  I  do  not  wish  you  to  care  for  me.  I  have  come 
to  relieve  Philippa,  and  to  nurse  my  brother,  and  to 
make  everybody  happy,  if  I  can.  You  will  have  to 
be  the  honorable  exception.  I  can't  make  you  so ; 
that 's  evident."  And  Eileen  looked  languidly  out 
of  the  window. 

"  You  are  a  sorceress,"  said  Colonel  Beverley,  bit 
ing  his  lips.  He  had  with  the  greatest  labor  and 
difficulty,  rising  early  and  taking  a  great  many 
journeys  to  the  post-office,  been  able  to  seize  three 
letters  addressed  to  Eileen  in  Jack's  handwriting ; 
but  he  could  not  be  perfectly  sure  that  in  some  way 
she  had  not  got  a  fourth.  Jack  might  have  taken 
extraordinary  means  when  ordinary  methods  brought 
no  answer.  Still  he  felt  sure  that  that  avenue  had 
been  effectually  blocked.  Could  she  love  any  one 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS.  187 

else?  Would  she  slip  through  his  fingers  now? 
By  all  that  was  good,  she  should  not,  he  swore 
again. 

But  he  was  making  a  mess  of  it.  He  had  not 
even  kept  his  temper ;  and  then,  horrible  thought ! 
it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  not  shown  the  slight 
est  solicitude  for  her,  —  open  solicitude,  that  is.  He 
cared  not  one  rap  for  anybody's  comfort  but  his 
own.  What  a  mistake  he  had  made,  though,  to  let 
his  selfishness  appear  !  He  only  hoped  it  was  not 
too  late  to  rectify  the  error. 

"You  are  tired,"  he  said  gently,  looking  at  her 
with  melting  eyes.  "  What  a  brute  I  am  !  A  man 
in  love  is  a  selfish  animal,  I  have  always  heard. 
You  must  rest  to-day,  and  to-night  before  dinner 
we'll  have  a  gallop.  Your  horse  is  looking  fitter 
than  I  ever  saw  him." 

Eileen  brightened  a  little ;  he  had  touched  one 
responsive  chord.  "  If  I  can  be  spared,"  she  said. 
"  I  hardly  know  how  much  work  there  is  in  a  sick 
room." 

"  There  's  no  work  at  all,"  said  Colonel  Beverley, 
"except  amusing  Barney.  He  is  in  bed  still,  but 
will  soon  be  on  a  sofa.  He  has  fellows  in  to  sit 
with  him  now." 

"He  can't  drink  nor  smoke,  I  suppose?"  said 
Eileen.  "  I  'm  glad  of  that." 

Just  then  they  drove  through  a  flowering  gateway 
by  a  salaaming,  red-turbaned  lodge-keeper;  and 
there,  standing  between  rows  of  ebony  retainers  in 
snowy  raiment,  was  Philippa,  waiting.  Colonel 
Beverley,  as  soon  as  he  had  handed  Eileen  out,  ran 


l88  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

up  to  the  invalid,  and  left  the  two  women  to  make 
their  greetings. 

"  Does  Barney  know  all  about  it?  "  asked  Eileen, 
anxiously. 

"  Everything,"  answered  Philippa.  "  I  have  told 
him  all.  We  have  both  longed  for  you  now  to  com 
plete  our  happiness.  We  are  perfectly  reconciled, 
Eileen.  I  have  had  such  a  fright  that  no  matter 
what  Barney  does,  I  shall  never  find  fault  again." 

"That  is  all  wrong,"  began  Eileen,  very  moral 
with  the  person  she  had  come  to  benefit.  But  she 
was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a 
bearer.  Barney  had  sent  her  a  salaam,  which  meant 
that  he  could  not  wait  another  minute  to  see  her ; 
so  Eileen  ran  up  to  him  quickly.  She  stopped 
before  the  door  to  enter  quietly,  and  was  all  ready 
to  whisper  softly  to  him,  when  she  heard  a  loud 
voice  shouting  out.  "  Don't  leave  the  house,  will 
you,  Bev?  "  the  voice  called ;  "  stop  to  luncheon  !  " 

Then  Barney  turned  on  his  pillow  and  saw  Eileen. 
"  Why,  my  girl,"  he  cried,  "  my  beautiful,  beautiful 
girl ! "  and  he  patted  again  and  again  the  golden 
head  which  had  hidden  itself  on  his  breast. 

It  was  a  strange  relief  to  find  Barney  so  well  and 
so  strong  apparently.  He  was  convalescing  very  fast ; 
but,  oh,  how  cross  he  was  !  Nobody  could  wait  on 
him  quickly  enough ;  and  as  for  the  servants  they  led 
curs'  lives.  Eileen,  who  had  come  to  her  brother's 
bedside  full  of  stern  resolutions,  found  that  her  mis 
sion  was  to  prevent  him  from  becoming  a  terrible 
tyrant.  He  bemoaned  his  fate  a  good  deal  to 
Eileen. 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  189 

"Think  of  me,  an  old  dot-and-go-one  ! "  he  said 
pathetically.  "  No  more  tennis,  no  more  racing, 
the  first  fool  of  a  doctor  at  the  hospital  told  me, 
and  he  said  I  could  never  ride  again.  Then  I  said, 
'  Give  me  poison.'  But  I  find  I  can  have  a  very 
handsome  foot  glued  on,  and  hobble  round  on  it 
respectably." 

One  day  Eileen  attempted  to  preach  a  little  to 
him.  "  Philippa  is  not  made  of  molten  brass," 
she  said ;  "  at  least  her  throat  is  not.  She  can't  read 
aloud  more  than  four  hours  at  a  time." 

"  She  never  seems  to  get  tired,"  said  Barney ; 
"  why  does  n't  she  say  so,  if  she  is  ?  How  do  I 
know?" 

"Oh,  Barney,"  cried  Eileen,  out  of  all  patience, 
"  you  know  she  would  never  say  so,  if  she  died  read 
ing.  And  why  shouldn't  you  know?  You  can't  read 
yourself  twenty  minutes  without  getting  husky,  and 
you  have  never  allowed  her  to  read  to  you  before.  I 
know  she  goes  away  and  sprays  her  throat  after  one 
of  these  recitals,  because  I  have  seen  her  do  it." 

The  little  lecture  had  some  effect,  but  not  much. 
Philippa  was  only  happy  ministering  to  her  husband, 
whom  she  seemed  to  feel,  with  some  flaw  in  her 
logic,  that  she  had  bitterly  wronged.  They  were  all 
going  to  England  as  soon  as  Barney  was  well.  That 
was  settled.  Stanhope  had  paid  Barney  the  money 
he  had  borrowed,  and  remittances  had  come  from 
England,  so  they  were  eased  of  their  cares  for  a 
time. 

Colonel  Beverley  was  at  the  Winterfords'  every 
day,  —  mornings,  afternoons,  and  evenings.  He  rode 


1 90  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

with  Eileen  every  day,  but  kept  a  respectful  silence, 
as  far  as  his  own  wishes  were  concerned ;  and  Eileen 
felt  that  in  spite  of  her  own  will  he  was  becoming  a 
very  close  friend.  Although  he  was  not  the  man 
to  understand  or  follow  her  with  the  least  real  sym 
pathy,  although  his  nature  was  never  in  touch  with 
hers,  determination  taught  him,  an  imitation  of  the 
keenest  sympathy,  and  Eileen  felt  him  to  be  at  times 
useful,  valuable,  and  intimate.  She  asked  herself 
every  night  if  she  loved  him  and  the  "  no  "  grew 
fainter  and  fainter.  The  defences  were  weakening ; 
the  garrison  was  on  the  point  of  capitulating.  The 
old  soldier  first  stormed  with  shot  and  shell,  and 
found  the  fort  bomb-proof.  He  was  now  under 
mining  the  fortifications. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

JACK  had  been  sent  on  some  mysterious  errand 
to  the  Northwest.  He  chafed  bitterly  against 
the  fate  which  kept  him  from  Calcutta  and  Eileen. 
Not  one  word,  one  syllable,  had  she  ever  written  in 
response  to  his  passionate  declarations  of  love,  and 
at  last  his  appeal  for  even  an  acknowledgment  of 
his  letters,  if  nothing  more.  He  had  no  means  of 
registering  his  communications,  but  he  finally  wrote 
to  the  postmaster  in  Calcutta.  An  answer  came  to 
him.  "  Colonel  Beverley  inquires  always  for  Lady 
Ellen  Beaufort's  letters.  A  great  many  have  been 
delivered  to  him,  or  to  his  jemadar,  Colonel  Bev 
erley  being  an  intimate  friend  of  the  family.  As 
for  the  particular  letters  of  which  you  speak,  nothing 
special  has  been  noted,  but  a  watch  will  be  kept." 
Then  the  letters  must  have  been  lost  before  reach 
ing  Calcutta.  But  how  about  the  note  he  had  writ 
ten  to  Eileen  the  night  he  went  away?  Why  should 
that  have  failed  too  ?  He  wrote  again  to  the  post- 
office,  sending  at  the  same  time  a  letter  to  Eileen. 
No  answer  came,  except  from  the  postmaster,  and 
containing  the  tidings  that  that  letter  had  been  de 
livered  into  the  hands  of  Colonel  Beverley.  In  the 


192  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

note  to  Eileen,  Jack  had  asked  her  to  acknowledge 
by  telegraph  the  receipt  of  that  letter. 

For  hours  and  hours  Jack  Beverley  sat  in  his  tent 
staring  at  nothing.  No  son  who  has  not  reverenced 
and  idolized  a  seemingly  perfect  parent  knows  how 
he  suffered.  The  first  pangs  were  the  worst ;  after 
that  he  tried  to  disbelieve.  His  father  knew  and 
approved  of  his  love.  The  bearer  had  taken  the  first 
letter,  which  Eileen  must  have  received.  It  was 
natural  that  in  their  state  —  his  father  had  written 
him  of  Barney's  mishap  —  an  intimate  friend  should 
get  their  letters ;  and  yet  it  was  an  almost  unheard- 
of  thing  for  a  gentleman  in  Calcutta  to  go  to  the 
post-office  himself.  But  if  his  father  had  given  the 
letters  to  Eileen,  why  had  there  been  no  answer? 
Even  his  going  away  without  sending  word  would 
hardly  disqualify  him  for  receiving  common  civility. 
Tom  Carbury  wrote  Jack,  at  last,  of  Eileen's  departure 
and  return.  That  ended  all  Jack's  doubt.  The  con 
sciousness  of  his  father's  part  in  the  performance 
was  forced  upon  him ;  for  when  Colonel  Beverley 
was  writing  him,  as  he  pretended,  every  scrap  of 
Calcutta  gossip,  he  had  omitted  to  mention  the  very 
circumstance  in  which  of  all  others  he  knew  Jack 
would  take  most  interest.  And,  indeed,  his  father 
had  taken  particular  pains  to  write  casually  of  Lady 
Eileen  several  times,  as  if  she  were  there  as  usual. 
Did  he  expect  that  he,  Jack,  could  be  packed  off 
like  this  to  separate  him  from  the  object  of  his  pas 
sion  in  a  small  country,  where  he  could  hear  from 
people  and  find  out  things  for  himself?  But  his 
wrath  was  not  as  strong  as  his  sorrow.  His  faith  in 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  193 

his  own  father  gone,  alas  !  how  could  he  believe  in 
Eileen  or  anybody  ?  If  a  father  could  prove  treach 
erous,  how  much  more  a  woman  of  whom  he  knew 
so  little  !  But  in  spite  of  this  reasoning,  Jack  knew 
that  he  did  trust  Eileen. 

And  now  for  Calcutta  and  the  truth. 

Colonel  Beverley  had  arranged  matters  so  that 
leave  was  the  most  difficult  of  all  things  to  be  ob 
tained,  but  one  day  Jack  pleaded  illness  and  left  for 
Calcutta ;  and  indeed  he  was  ill  without  feigning. 
He  was  no  longer  a  happy,  serene  boy ;  he  was  a 
wretched,  suffering  man.  If  Eileen  loved  him  now, 
even  if  she  married  him,  his  life  was  spoiled  forever. 
Treachery  and  duplicity  in  his  own  family  !  He 
could  neither  sleep  nor  eat.  He  sat  staring,  starting, 
as  the  truth  would  grow  more  shapeful  suddenly 
after  some  inevitable  diversion  in  the  course  of 
travel,  —  a  word  to  the  guard,  perhaps,  or  to  a  fellow- 
traveller.  He  arrived  in  Calcutta  haggard,  blood 
shot.  He  would  not  go  to  the  house  in  Outram 
Street ;  he  went  to  Carbury's  rooms  at  Government 
House.  Carbury  told  him  he  looked  fearfully  seedy ; 
so  he  tried  to  rest  and  make  himself  a  trifle  more 
presentable,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  frighten  Eileen. 

Carbury  gave  him  some  particulars  of  the  Winter- 
fords.  "There's  a  mystery  somewhere  there,"  he 
said.  "  Lady  Eileen  sailed  for  England  and  came 
back  from  Colombo." 

"  When  she  heard  of  her  brother's  accident,  I  sup 
pose  ?  "  said  Jack,  dryly.  "  That 's  simple  enough." 

"Yes,"  said  Carbury,  "that  doesn't  sound  so 
odd ;  but  there  were  various  queer  things  about  it. 
'3 


194 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


However,  I  'm  not  a  tabby,  and  I  'm  not  going  to 
gossip." 

"Is  Lady  Eileen  as  pretty  as  ever?"  said  Jack, 
carelessly. 

"  Prettier  than  ever  or  anything,"  rejoined  Car- 
bury.  "  She  is  the  only  woman  I  take  the  faintest 
interest  in  out  here."  He  did  not  like  to  chafe  Jack 
about  his  father's  attentions  to  her,  for  he  more  than 
suspected  Jack's  condition.  "  Have  you  seen  your 
governor?"  he  asked  while  they  were  at  luncheon. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Jack.  He  wondered  at  himself 
a  little.  His  indignation  had  been  terrible  on  the 
train.  With  the  impetuousness  of  a  boy.  he  was  level 
ling  thunderbolts  in  anticipation  at  his  father's  head. 
He  was  growing  calmer  and  more  collected  every 
minute ;  bitter  and  almost  cynical  he  felt. 

He  waited  nearly  all  day  in  Carbury's  rooms.  It 
was  not  like  him  to  delay,  but  he  felt  a  kind  of 
paralysis  of  volition.  When  Carbury  went  out,  he 
called  after  him,  "  Don't  mention  my  being  here, 
Tommy,  will  you?" 

Carbury  came  back.  "  Look  here,  Jack  !  "  he  said 
kindly ;  "  if  you  're  in  trouble,  let  it  out  to  me.  I 
may  not  be  able  to  help  you,  but  it  will  be  a  relief 
to  tell  it  anyway.  Something 's  happened.  Now, 
out  with  it !  " 

Jack  had  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  with 
his  back  to  Tom.  "  I  'm  going  to  show  myself  this 
afternoon,"  he  said,  "  and  then  you  can  speak." 

"  I  don't  want  to  '  speak,'  "  laughed  Tom,  con 
temptuously.  "  It  is  n't  that ;  you  can  stay  here  a 
month  if  you  like,  and  not  a  soul  shall  know  it.  But 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


'95 


I  never  saw  you  in  the  dumps  before,  and  I  want  to 
help  you  out.  If  you  can't  talk  about  it,  all  right. 
I  did  n't  know  your  kind,  that 's  all.  I  can't  tell 
things,  either.  Good-by,  old  man ;  I  '11  be  back. 
Take  Sepoy,  if  you  want  him,  or  Caradoc.  They  're 
both  eating  their  heads  off." 

"He's  a  good  fellow,"  said  Jack.  "There  are 
lots  of  good  fellows."  Then  a  sharp  pain  shot 
through  him.  "  And  I  thought  my  father  the  best 
of  them  all  —  in  the  world.  Oh,  how  could  he  do 
this,  —  how  could  he  ?  If  he  loved  her,  why  did  he 
not  tell  me  so?  I  would  have  given  up,  or  at  any 
rate  we  could  have  fought  fairly.  If  I  could  n't  draw 
one  breath  without  her,  I  'd  win  her  like  a  man  or 
I'd  go  without  breath." 

The  truth  must  be  known,  at  any  rate ;  he  would 
be  satisfied  with  that.  If  there  was  to  be  no  happi 
ness  for  him  in  this  world,  there  was  still  honor  and 
perhaps  in  the  distance  glory.  "  I  am  a  soldier," 
he  said.  "  A  soldier's  happiness  is  a  secondary  con 
sideration."  Then  he  thought  with  scorn  of  the 
time  he  had  wasted.  "  Tent-life  for  me  henceforth  !  " 
he  said.  "  Fighting,  if  I  can  get  it ;  but  the  life  of  a 
soldier  !  "  And  he  pitied  in  his  heart  just  then  the 
plain  citizen  who  has  to  bear  his  pain  in  a  daily 
grind  of  small  duties. 

It  was  four  o'clock  before  Jack  started  from  the 
house.  He  dressed  carefully,  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 
His  razors  looked  too  shining  for  comfort ;  he  felt 
dimly  what  temptations  they  might  prove.  Some 
times  the  thought  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  go 
away  altogether,  and  not  contest  the  prize  with  his 


196  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

own  father.  Such  an  unnatural,  horrible  state  of 
affairs  !  It  was  so  repugnant  to  him  that  if  he  had 
not  really  loved  Eileen  better  than  himself  or  his 
father,  he  could  not  have  seen  her  again,  or  if  he  had 
not  felt  that  his  father  would  be  unsuccessful. 

Lady  Ennen  memsahib  was  in  the  drawing-room, 
the  bearer  said,  receiving  visitors;  and  Jack,  who 
had  always  had  the  freedom  of  the  house,  went  up 
at  once.  It  was  Philippa  who  was  in  the  drawing- 
room  ;  and  through  the  veranda  door,  directly 
behind  her,  he  saw  his  father  and  Eileen  sitting  side 
by  side  on  a  small  sofa  in  the  corner.  His  father 
was  leaning  over  her ;  she  was  looking  up  into  his 
face  laughing.  She  was  in  a  beautiful  yellow  gown, 
embroidered  with  gold ;  her  face  was  angelic.  He 
saw  everything,  —  everything  but  Philippa,  who  was 
directly  before  him  holding  out  her  hand.  He 
took  in  every  detail,  including  the  happy  look  in 
that  other's  lovely  eyes.  He  had  lost  her.  A  voice 
recalled  him. 

"  Why,  Jack  Beverley  !  "  said  Philippa,  "  how 
delightful !  And  your  father  never  told  us.  Eileen, 
come  here  quick  !  Colonel  Beverley  has  planned  a 
surprise  for  us." 

Eileen,  rising  quickly,  came  through  the  French 
window.  Captain  Beverley  bowed  stiffly.  His  father 
came  rushing  out,  and  with  great  heartiness  shook 
him  by  the  hand. 

"  Well,  Jack,  old  boy,  you  have  sprung  it  on  us 
this  time.  How  are  you,  child?  You  look  pre 
cious  seedy.  Are  you  too  overcome  to  speak?  " 

Jack  controlled  himself  by  a  mighty  effort.     Fool 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


197 


that  he  had  been,  he  had  never  counted  upon  his 
father's  presence  here,  —  his,  who  was  probably 
never  anywhere  else.  He  smiled  faintly. 

"  I  Ve  been  a  little  ill,"  he  said  to  Lady  Barney. 
"How's  Barney?  I  was  sorry  to  hear  such  bad 
news  of  him." 

Eileen  had  shaken  hands  with  Jack,  in  a  daze  too. 
She  had,  not  five  minutes  before,  promised  to  be 
Colonel  Beverley's  wife.  Jack  was  faithless,  good 
for  nothing.  His  father  was  a  hero.  She  was  tired 
of  saying  no.  He  was  a  man  to  be  proud  of.  As 
for  love,  she  did  not  care  for  it  for  herself;  but  she 
nearly  loved  him,  she  thought,  and  he  fairly  buried 
her  in  his  affection.  He  never  wished  to  leave  her 
side ;  he  anticipated  her  faintest  breath.  She  was 
lucky,  after  all,  to  be  so  adored  by  this  superb,  sol 
dierly  creature. 

The  sight  of  Jack  shook  her  a  little,  —  Jack  stand 
ing  before  her,  mute,  reproachful,  awkward.  This 
boy  a  deceiver  !  It  was  preposterous  to  believe  it  of 
him.  If  Jack  had  been  in  doubt,  if  there  had  been 
a  shadow  of  a  loophole  for  it,  he  would  have  spoken 
then.  He  had  come  for  the  truth ;  that  was  all  he 
wanted,  he  said,  and  he  had  found  out  the  truth. 
These  two  would  never  have  been  sitting  like  that 
if  they  had  not  been  lovers.  He  thought  he  had 
been  prepared  for  the  worst,  but  he  had  not  been 
prepared  at  all. 

"  Come  in  and  see  Barney,"  said  Philippa.  "  He 
is  so  fond  of  visitors,  and  he  will  be  rejoiced  to  see 
you."  Philippa  was  gay,  almost  girlish ;  but  Jack 
hardly  noticed  her. 


198  THE  BEVERLEYS, 

Barney  kept  him  a  long  time,  asking  him  ques 
tions,  and  telling  him  all  their  affairs ;  and  when  he 
came  out  into  the  drawing-room  again,  tea  was 
ready,  and  Eileen  gone  to  dress. 

"  I  'm  going  for  a  ride  with  Lady  Ellen.  I  shall 
see  you  at  dinner?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  No,"  answered  Jack,  averting  his  face.  "  I  'm 
stopping  at  Government  House." 

"  Government  House  !  "  echoed  Colonel  Beverley. 
"You  mean  as  the  guest  of  the  Viceroy?  Well, 
you  are  a  swell." 

"  I  'm  with  Carbury,"  said  Jack,  "  and  I  leave 
again  to-morrow." 

"  What  foolery  !  "  said  the  Colonel,  in  a  low  tone. 
Philippa  was  not  with  them  then,  but  Colonel 
Beverley  was  afraid  of  being  overheard.  "  What  is 
this  new  dodge  of  yours?  Shunning  me  because  I 
am  successful  where  you  failed  ?  " 

Then  it  was  true  !  Jack  grasped  the  table.  His 
strength  came  back  to  him  then.  "I failed!"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  bitter  contempt.  "  May  I  tell 
Lady  Eileen  Beaufort  how  I  failed?" 

"  I  will  see  you  later  on,"  said  his  father.  "  No 
heroics  here,  if  you  please.  Remember  where  you 
are,  —  in  a  lady's  drawing-room." 

"My  language  was  perfectly  suited  to  a  lady's 
drawing-room,"  said  Jack,  in  a  low  tone.  "  I  have 
not  even  raised  my  voice.  You  are  my  father,  and 
to  tell  the  story  of  your  disgrace  is  to  publish  mine  ; 
but  I  have  too  sincere  a  regard  for  Lady  Eileen  to 
allow  her  to  marry  a  man  who  would  commit  crimes 
to  win  her." 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


199 


"  Crimes  !  "  choked  out  the  Colonel,  making  his 
voice  still  lower.  "  Hound  !  to  utter  that  word  to 
me,  when  you  know  I  cannot  resent  it  in  this  house  ! 
If  you  are  not  afraid  to  meet  me,  as  you  should  be, 
come  to  my  house  and  get  what  you  deserve,  snivel 
ling  cur ! " 

"  I  believe  that  intercepting  letters  is  a  crime," 
said  Jack,  "  and  I  have  proof  which  —  do  not  alarm 
yourself !  —  I  shall  not  use,  that  you  have  done  a 
great  deal  of  that." 

"  A  liar  too,"  said  Colonel  Beverley,  with  a  sneer. 
"  My  precious  offspring  !  If  you  had  died  at  your 
birth  instead  of  your  poor  mother,  what  a  blessing 
it  would  have  been  for  all  of  us  !  " 

Jack's  face  grew  black,  his  throat  swelled ;  he 
rose  hastily  as  Eileen  approached. 

"  We  can't  ask  you  to  dinner,  Captain  Beverley," 
she  said  with  only  a  half-smile,  "  because  we  don't 
dine  any  more.  Philippa  and  I  have  a  little  table 
in  the  veranda  just  outside  Barney's  door,  and  we 
jump  up  forty  times  to  wait  upon  him ;  and  we  have 
simple,  horrid  food,  because  he  can't  deny  himself 
anything  he  sees,  and  rich  things  are  bad  for  him. 
Shall  we  see  you  to-morrow?" 

"  My  leave  is  short,"  said  Jack,  not  even  attempt 
ing  a  smile,  but  looking  her  full  in  the  eyes  now. 
"  I  came  to  see  you,"  he  started  to  say,  but  he  would 
not  give  his  father  that  gratification.  "  Perhaps  I 
may  see  you  for  a  moment  to-morrow." 

Philippa  appeared  now  in  her  hat.  "  What !  "  she 
said;  "going?  Oh,  pray  don't  go  so  soon  !  I  was 
going  to  ask  you  to  drive  me  in  Barney's  mail 


200  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

phaeton.  I  've  ordered  it,  and  can't  go  if  you  don't 
drive  me." 

Jack  bowed  gravely.  The  others  started,  and 
Philippa  motioned  to  Jack  to  sit  down  again  while 
she  drank  her  tea. 

"  Did  Eileen  give  you  any?  "  she  said.  "  Things 
are  rather  irregular  in  this  establishment,  but  Barney 
is  improving  now,  —  although  he  will  always  be 
lame,  —  and  I  am  so  relieved  about  him.  You  look 
so  ill,  Jack  !  "  she  said,  looking  at  him  earnestly ; 
"  can't  you  stay  in  Calcutta  till  you  are  better?  " 

"  I  shall  never  be  better,  in  Calcutta  or  any 
where  else,  Lady  Barney,"  said  Jack,  melting 
suddenly  under  this  interest.  "I  have  an  incurable 
disease."  Philippa  started.  "  It  is  mental,  but  it 
will  finish  me,  I  think.  I  hope  so." 

Philippa  knew  that  very  young  men  were  ready  to 
consign  themselves  to  the  silent  tomb  on  slight 
provocation  and  at  short  notice,  but  this  she  had 
never  thought  to  be  Jack's  sort. 

"  It 's  about  Lady  Eileen,"  Jack  burst  forth,  when 
they  had  started  and  were  driving  down  Chow- 
ringhee.  The  air  had  revived  him ;  and  Philippa 
sitting  beside  him,  looking  so  kind  and  gracious  and 
sweet,  made  him  feel  that  he  had  one  friend  left  at 
least.  "  I  have  loved  her  for  a  long  time,  and  almost 
told  her  so,  and  made  an  appointment  with  her,  and 
had  to  go  away,  and  wrote  letter  after  letter  to  her, 
and  now  I  come  back  to  find  her — to  find  her  —  " 
He  would  never  speak  to  a  living  soul  about  his 
father's  treachery.  He  was  out  of  breath  and  pale 
with  passion. 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  2OI 

'•'  I  used  to  think  Eileen  cared  for  you,"  said 
Philippa,  slowly.  "  It  is  hard  to  tell  about  her,  but 
she  certainly  seemed  like  it.  Lately  I  think  Colonel 
Beverley  is  devoted  to  her.  She  has  been  confi 
dential  with  me  of  late,  and  she  told  me  not  a  fort 
night  ago  that  she  did  not  love  him  and  would  not 
marry  him.  'Then,  Eileen,'  I  said,  'you  must  not 
have  him  constantly  about  you.'  '  He  knows,'  she 
answered  me ;  '  we  understand  each  other.  The 
moment  he  speaks  one  word  of  love  to  me,  off  he 
goes  or  off  I  go,  —  one  of  the  two  ! '  "  Jack's  face 
brightened.  "Still,  these  last  few  days  things  have 
seemed  changed.  Last  night  Eileen  said, '  That  man 
is  simply  irresistible ;  I  feel  as  if  I  were  struggling 
against  fate.'  " 

"  I  ought  to  have  spoken  to  her  the  moment  I 
saw  her,"  thought  Jack ;  "  I  may  be  too  late."  He 
knew  how  his  father  would  work  during  this  ride 
to  extort  a  promise  from  her,  if  he  had  not  done  so 
already.  His  boast  of  success  might  be  another  of 
his  cheats.  "  I  am  too  simple,"  said  Jack  to  him 
self,  sadly,  "  to  cope  with  my  father."  The  drive 
was  helping  him  however  to  see,  and  to  shape  a 
course. 

"  Come  to-night,"  said  Lady  Barney,  "  and  dine 
with  us  in  the  veranda.  I  will  not  tell  Eileen  you 
are  coming,  but  you  shall  see  her,  and  have  a  dis 
tinct  understanding.  These  gropings  are  horrible. 
If  anything  prevents  or  hinders  you,  I  will  talk  with 
Eileen  myself.  Colonel  Beverley,  I  know,  dines 
somewhere  else.  Be  sure  and  come  !  " 

"  Sure  !  "  said  Jack,  turning  upon  Philippa  with  his 


202  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

soul  in  his  eyes.  "  You  are  a  ministering  angel, 
Lady  Barney.  I  should  have  died  if  it  had  not 
been  for  you." 

"  I  can't  promise  you  much,"  answered  Philippa. 
"  Eileen  may  have  changed  regarding  you.  I  know 
she  was  piqued  at  your  not  keeping  your  appoint 
ment  with  her;  and  once  she  told  me  you  had 
flirted  wildly  with  other  women,  including  herself." 

"  I  '  flirt ' !  "  said  Jack.  "  Not  since  I  knew  her, 
certainly,  if  I  ever  did  before  ;  and  I  should  as  soon 
think  of  deserting  the  Venus  de  Medicis  or  Helen  of 
Troy  !  She  has  held  me  in  a  perfect  spell,  —  a 
glamour.  I  love  to  know  she  is  under  the  same 
roof;  it  makes  me  quiet  and  happy." 

"  There  is  a  great  charm  about  Eileen,"  said 
Philippa,  musingly ;  "  and  you  '11  find  her  a  great  deal 
lovelier  than  ever,  unless,"  she  added  hastily,  for 
fear  he  would  not  find  her  at  all,  "  some  new  change 
has  come  over  her.  Eileen  is  of  the  chameleon 
stripe ;  she  varies  from  day  to  day  and  from  minute 
to  minute.  Still,  the  growth  is  steady  all  the  same. 
Perhaps  I  am  wrong  to  encourage  you,"  she  said 
suddenly.  "  Eileen  may  be  quite  the  reverse  of 
interested  in  you,  even ;  but  I  think  you  should 
really  have  one  conversation  with  her  for  your  own 
sake,  —  to  clear  your  doubts  and  to  make  your 
explanations." 

"  It  will  be  better,"  said  Jack,  "  and  I  am  nerved 
to  give  her  up  now." 

They  drove  a  long  way  out  of  town.  Philippa 
wisely  thought  it  might  annoy  Jack  to  meet  every 
body,  until  matters  were  settled  for  him ;  so  she 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  203 

suggested  the  jungle.  They  talked  of  Barney ;  and 
then  his  wife,  in  a  strange  burst  of  confidence,  told 
Jack  about  her  determination  to  go  to  England,  and 
Eileen's  brave  decision  to  go  with  her,  and  what 
had  happened  since.  Philippa,  who  had  never 
thought  much  about  tact,  was  more  delicate  than 
she  knew,  in  thus  confiding  in  Jack.  He  had 
opened  his  heart  to  her,  and  it  was  a  boon  to  him 
to  find  his  own  frankness  reciprocated. 

When  the  drive  was  ended,  and  Jack  went  back 
to  Carbury's  room  to  dress,  he  felt  that  he  should 
die  unless  he  could  perform  some  great  service  for 
Lady  Barney  Winterford,  who  had  enlightened  him. 
If  Eileen  did  not  love  him,  he  could  go  away,  still 
comforted  and  refreshed  by  one  woman's  kindness, 
frankness,  and  sympathy.  He  felt  now  only  pity 
for  his  father ;  he  knew  that  a  low,  one-sided  sort 
of  happiness  was  all  he  had  to  expect  at  best. 
Eileen  did  not  really  care  very  much  for  his  father. 
Oh,  to  take  back  the  bitter  words  he  had  spoken 
to  him  ! 

A  clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard  behind  him,  and 
glancing  over  his  shoulder  Jack  saw  who  was  com 
ing  up.  "Jack,"  said  his  father,  with  a  smile, 
"  you  owe  me  satisfaction  for  a  disgraceful  attack 
upon  my  honor.  I  waive  that.  You  are  my  son, 
and  I  forgive  you.  I  lay  it  all  to  disappointment 
and  bodily  suffering,  for  you  seem  deucedly  ill. 
I  am  unfortunately  dining  out  to-night,  but  I  will 
slip  away  early  and  come  home.  Meet  me  at  ten 
o'clock  there,  and  we  can  talk  the  matter  out." 

Jack   bowed   respectfully.      "  I  '11   meet   you   at 


204  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

your  house,  sir,"  he  said.  The  Colonel  rode  off. 
"He  waives  the  satisfaction  I  owe  him,  does  he?" 
said  Jack,  bitterly.  "  It  is  much  safer  for  him." 

Jack  met  Stanhope,  as  he  was  going  in;  and 
while  they  stood  talking,  the  Viceregal  party  came  in 
from  driving.  Jack  was  no  longer  incognito,  and 
he  rushed  forward  to  assist  the  ladies  with  his  old 
warmth  of  manner.  The  prospect  of  a  ttte-a-tete 
with  Eileen  acted  upon  him  like  champagne ;  but 
the  thought  of  the  shattered  idol,  his  father,  whom 
he  had  adored,  came  before  him  and  soiled  and 
spoiled  every  vision.  That  a  father  should  coolly 
plan  to  ruin  his  son's  happiness,  —  that  was  a  small 
matter,  in  Jack's  estimation,  compared  with  his  re 
sorting  to  foul  means  to  do  it.  If  Colonel  Beverley 
had  said  to  Jack,  "  I  love  Lady  Ellen  too,  and  mean 
to  win  her,  if  I  can,"  Jack  would  have  withdrawn 
forever,  —  unless,  indeed,  he  had  known  his  father's 
case  to  be  hopeless.  But  stealing  letters,  lying, 
cheating,  —  his  own  father,  his  mother's  husband, 
—  oh,  it  was  worse  than  death,  a  hundred,  thousand, 
million  times  !  And  then  to  live  in  enmity  — 

"  Tom,"  said  Jack,  abruptly,  while  they  were 
dressing,  "  have  you  ever  been  deceived  in  a  person 
you  trusted  as  you  did  yourself?  " 

"  Lots  of  times,"  said  Tom.  "  It 's  the  rule,  not 
the  exception,  especially  with  women.  If  you  're 
having  your  first  experience  of  the  kind,  let  me  give 
you  some  advice.  Keep  your  mouth  shut,  and 
lock  up  your  pens  and  ink.  It  does  n't  pay  to  work 
yourself  up  and  lose  sleep  and  appetite  and  get 
fever,  as  you  're  sure  to  do  in  this  climate.  Nobody 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


205 


cares  for  yourself  but  yourself,  you  '11  find.  I  don't 
get  taken  in  any  more,  because  I  distrust  everybody. 
I  used  to  call  Heaven  to  witness,  and  fly  about  like  a 
March  hare  with  its  head  cut  off.  But  that  was 
when  I  was  young.  It 's  hard  lines,  Jack,  but  it 's 
part  of  the  business  they  call  life.  Not  a  paying 
concern,  you  '11  find,  my  boy  !  " 

Then  Tom  had  suffered  too ;  probably  not  in  this 
way,  however.  His  was  a  unique  case,  Jack  still 
thought.  "  I  Ve  expected  too  much,  I  dare  say," 
he  said,  "  and  yet  I  Ve  only  asked  for  common 
honesty.  Any  losses  such  as  come  in  the  course  of 
things  I  could  stand,  but  to  be  deliberately  cheated 
and  —  " 

"  Why,  bless  you,  to  be  deliberately  cheated  is  the 
course  of  things,  you  sweet  infant !  "  said  Carbury. 
"  You  '11  have  to  get  used  to  it.  Learn  not  to  put 
yourself  into  anybody's  hands." 

"  You  don't  understand  and  you  could  n't,"  an 
swered  Jack,  quietly.  "  This  thing  of  mine  was  like 
a  thunderstorm  out  of  a  clear  sky.  I  had  done 
nothing  to  bring  it  on ;  it  was  no  fault  of  mine." 

"Fault,  —  no;  but  you  probably  confided  in 
somebody." 

Jack  started.  That  was  it,  after  all.  If  he  had 
not  been  a  baby  and  prated  to  his  father  of  his  love, 
there  would  have  been  no  such  trouble  as  this  that 
he  was  in  now ;  and  yet  it  was  best,  after  all,  that  he 
should  have  known  the  worst  as  early  as  possible. 
"  You  're  right,  old  man  !  "  said  Jack ;  "  that 's  just 
what  I  did  do.  I  Ve  learned  my  lesson." 

" '  Experience  does  it,'"  laughed  Tom.    "  There  is 


206  THE  B  EVER  LEYS. 

a  kind  of  platform  of  bare  boards  upon  which  a  man 
can  lead  an  even  life.  Without  sentiment,  to  be 
sure,  and  with  rather  a  monotonous  outlook ;  but 
that 's  where  I  live.  Don't  borrow  much ;  lend  as 
little  as  you  can.  Tell  nothing ;  leave  thoughts  of 
suicide  for  boys  and  fools.  Jog  on  with  an  unmean 
ing  smile.  Be  as  honest  as  this  world  will  let  you, 
and  that 's  about  all  you  can  attain  to  in  this 
precious  sphere." 

"  You  don't  make  the  prospect  alluring,"  said 
Jack,  with  a  sad  smile.  "  I  suppose  I  am  very 
young  and  raw  even  for  my  age.  Somehow  I  have 
found  things  so  smooth  that  I  never  suspected  they 
could  be  rough  for  me.  I  thought  the  reason  men 
had  so  many  bothers  was  because  they  were  not 
straightforward.  I  was  taught  that  an  honest  man 
might  have  misfortune,  but  never  disgrace.  Now,  I 
find  that  the  reason  things  were  smooth  was  because 
I  had  n't  set  my  heart  on  anything  in  particular.  I 
had  no  wants,  so  I  had  no  disappointments." 

"  That 's  just  it,"  Tom  said.  "  But  as  for  disgrace 
not  coming  to  honest  men,  that 's  the  greatest  mis 
take  in  the  world ;  it 's  the  innocent  ones  who  suffer 
most.  Don't  you  know  those  who  are  perfectly 
frank  and  tell  everything  they  know,  are  always 
'done'?" 

"  Well,"  Jack  said,  "  I  'm  going  now  to  dine  with 
the  Winterfords.  I  may  be  off  in  the  morning  be 
fore  you  're  up,  and  I  may  be  about  here  for  a  week. 
If  I  don't  see  you  again,  ta-ta,  old  fellow,  and  good 
luck  !  I  wanted  to  grumble  a  bit,  and  I  feel  better. 
We  're  all  in  the  same  boat,  after  all,  and  I  was 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


207 


a  fool  to  think  I  was  the  only  one  who  had  got 
hurt." 

"  Good-by,  Jack  Beverley,"  said  Tom.  "  After 
all  I  've  said  about  distrust,  there 's  not  a  fellow  I 
would  come  to  in  trouble  sooner  than  that  one ; 
he  's  one  mass  of  honor,"  —  this  last  was  a  soliloquy, 
—  "  and  transparent  as  a  piece  of  glass  in  his  very 
resolution  to  be  guarded.  '  I  'm  going  to  propose  to 
Lady  Eileen,'  —  sweet  innocent !  —  '  and  if  she  ac 
cepts  me  I  shall  hang  about  for  a  week,'  he  might 
just  as  well  have  said ;  '  if  she  does  not,  you  won't 
see  me  again.'  Well,  he  's  as  refreshing  as  Kinchin- 
junga  in  the  hot  weather,  and  I  wish  to  Heaven  he 
might  stay  so  !  "  And  Tom  dragged  himself  off  to  the 
dullest  of  dull  dinners  at  the  Olmsteds'.  Colonel 
Beverley  was  there,  and  spoke  affectionately  of 
Jack. 

Lady  Barney  was  in  the  drawing-room  when  Jack 
ran  upstairs.  "  1  just  a  minute  ago  told  Eileen  you 
were  coming,"  she  said,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand, 
"  and  she  declared  she  had  a  headache  and  was  go 
ing  to  bed.  I  have  insisted  upon  her  staying  up  and 
giving  you  an  interview." 

Tom's  words  about  frankness  jarred  upon  Jack's 
ears  then,  in  recollection.  How  would  it  have  been 
to  him  to-night  if  Philippa  had  not  been  frank  ?  But 
he  felt  a  great  sinking  of  the  heart,  for  he  thought 
he  divined  the  reason  of  Eileen's  repugnance.  If 
she  were  his  father's  promised  wife  and  knew  that  he 
was  going  to  make  love  to  her,  of  course  she  would 
try  to  avoid  the  interview. 

Eileen,  in  her  yellow  tea-gown  with  its  golden 


208  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

flowers,  sitting  in  the  pale  light  of  the  moon  and  the 
yellow  light  of  a  high  lamp,  with  her  golden  hair  a 
little  disordered,  her  cheelcs  a  trifle  pale,  her  eyes 
somewhat  heavy,  —  Eileen,  even  distant  and  pre 
occupied,  was  a  sight  which  electrified  Jack  into 
utter  and  unutterable  happiness.  Eileen  sitting  be 
side  him  at  the  little  table;  Eileen  handing  him  a 
spoon,  a  cruet,  anything,  —  it  was  rare  bliss  after 
all  these  weeks  of  cruel  separation  and  suspense. 
His  condition  now  was  almost  worse  than  one  of 
suspense.  But  simple  contact  was  enough  for  him 
to-night.  Jack  himself  was  thin  and  interesting. 
His  cheeks  were  burning,  and  his  eyes  like  coals. 
Barney  was  in  the  highest  spirits,  and  Philippa 
charming,  although  she  felt  very  nervous  about  her 
own  responsibility  in  this  matter. 

Eileen  was  positively  glum.  She  did  not  know  in 
the  least  what  Jack  wanted  to  say  to  her,  —  to  hurl 
reproaches  at  her  possibly,  as  the  men  who  have  tri 
fled  with  one  are  just  as  apt  to  do  as  not,  —  but  an 
interview  with  him  of  any  nature  would  be  embar 
rassing  under  the  circumstances. 

Colonel  Beverley,  for  obvious  reasons,  wished 
their  engagement  made  public  instantly.  It  would 
be  the  easiest  way  to  silence  Jack.  He  had  urged, 
and  begged,  and  nearly  insisted.  But  Eileen,  who 
was  cross  and  silent  all  through  the  ride,  told  him 
that  she  had  only  given  him  a  half  promise,  and  that 
if  he  uttered  a  syllable  on  the  subject  to  a  living  be 
ing  she  would  end  the  whole  thing. 

Eileen's  reason  was  a  sentimental  one.  Mr.  War 
wick  was  very  ill,  and  was  to  sail  for  England  in  a 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


209 


week  if  the  doctors  would  allow  him.  He  should 
not  have  the  violent  shock  of  hearing  of  her  engage 
ment  to  Colonel  Beverley  before  he  went.  It  might 
kill  him,  and  at  any  rate  it  would  be  cruelty  of  the 
worst  kind.  She  had  seen  him  in  the  morning,  but 
had  heard  to-night  that  he  was  worse,  and  that  was 
one  reason  of  her  depression.  Another  was  that  she 
knew  she  had  made  an  irretrievable  blunder,  and 
that  she  cared  no  more  for  Colonel  Beverley  than 
she  did  for  Mr.  Warwick.  It  was  her  fate  to  choose 
the  wrong  path,  to  have  the  wrong  likings,  to  stum 
ble  and  err  and  pitch  headlong  into  difficulties 
always.  She  tried  to  be  rude  to  Jack,  but  the  effort 
was  apparent.  Jack  did  not  wonder  and  did  not 
care. 

"  One  used  to  think  blondes  should  never  wear 
yellow,"  said  Barney,  gazing  at  Eileen  fondly;  "yet 
I  never  saw  you  look  better,  my  girl,  than  you  do  in 
that  goldy  thing  you  have  on  to-night." 

"  It 's  old  and  horrid,"  said  Eileen.  "  I  have  a 
headache,  and  don't  care  how  I  look  to-night." 

"  You  're  tired,  dear,"  said  Philippa,  gently.  "  Do 
you  know  how  ill  Mr.  Warwick  is,  Captain  Beverley? 
Eileen  and  I  went  to  see  him  this  morning.  We  are 
deeply  attached  to  him,  and  it  was  a  most  exciting 
visit.  We  shall  not  see  him  again,  I  am  afraid." 

"He  may  be  much  better,"  said  Eileen,  petu 
lantly,  "  if  he  can  only  get  away  from  this  climate, 
which  is  killing  him."  Eileen's  voice  was  full  of 
sobs.  (A  murderess  too,  probably;  that  was  all 
she  needed  to  complete  the  list  of  her  crimes.) 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  are  tired  and  anxious  too," 
14 


210  THE  B  EVER  LEYS. 

said  Jack.  "  Warwick  will  be  a  great  loss  here, 
—  that  is,  if  he  dies.  He  's  one  of  the  leading 
merchants." 

"  He  '11  leave  a  pot  of  money,"  said  Barney ;  "  I 
wonder  who  '11  get  it." 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  cried  Eileen.  "  How  can  you 
administer  the  poor  man's  estate  before  he  is  even 
dangerously  ill?"  Eileen  had  nearly  lost  her  self- 
control,  and  the  subject  was  changed. 

"What  are  you  eating?  "  said  Barney,  raising  his 
head  from  his  pillow  and  trying  to  examine  the 
dishes  on  the  table.  "  If  you  've  got  marrow-bones 
there  —  " 

"  Oh,  Barney,"  said  Eileen,  "  when  will  you  learn 
not  to  tease  for  food  which  is  bad  for  you?" 

"  Why,  you  cross,  little  naughty  thing  !  "  said 
Barney,  looking  at  her  in  amazement.  "  Jack  Bev- 
erley  will  tell  his  father  what  a  mistake  he  is  making. 
You  did  n't  know  how  far  gone  the  governor  was, 
did  you,  Jack?"  There  was  never  any  peace  or 
safety  with  Barney. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  coarse  !  "  said  Eileen,  in 
dignantly  ;  then  conscious  that  the  guest  was  badly 
treated,  she  tried  to  laugh,  and  very  nearly  went 
into/  hysterics.  Instead  of  the  lovely,  little  pictur 
esque  dinners  they  usually  had  in  the  veranda,  this 
was  a  horrible,  wretched  one.  Eileen  wished  it  over 
a  thousand  times.  But  Jack  could  have  sat  there 
forever. 

When  coffee  was  brought,  Jack  asked  Eileen  to 
walk  with  him  in  the  garden.  It  was  too  damp, 
Eileen  said,  and  she  could  not  walk  in  a  long  gown. 


THE  B EVER  LEYS.  211 

"Shall  we  sit  in  the  drawing-room,  then?"  said 
Jack ;  "  I  really  must  ask  you  to  listen  to  me  for 
five  minutes." 

The  little  sofa  in  the  corner  of  the  veranda 
had  always  been  a  favorite  seat  of  theirs,  but  both 
avoided  it  instinctively  now.  Eileen,  with  a  re 
signed  air,  which  would  have  been  provoking  to 
Jack  if  he  had  not  felt  himself  proof  against  annoy 
ance  to-night,  seated  herself  in  a  large  armchair 
and  sighed.  There  was  no  seat  for  Jack  near  her ; 
so  he  leaned  over  her. 

"  Let  me  begin  at  the  beginning,"  he  said,  speak 
ing  with  great  distinctness.  "  I  wrote  you  a  letter 
the  night  I  was  called  away.  I  gave  it  to  my  bearer 
to  deliver.  [It  was  pretty  hard  on  even  a  native 
servant,  Jack  thought,  to  charge  him  thus  unjustly.] 
In  it  I  told  you  what  I  thought  you  knew  before,  — 
that  I  loved  you,  and  you  only,  and  that  I  should 
be  back  in  three  days  to  tell  you  again  with  my  own 
lips."  He  went  on  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
although  Eileen  was  now  sitting  bolt  upright  and 
looking  at  him  with  gleaming  eyes.  "  The  bearer 
did  not  deliver  it,  I  know ;  because  if  you  had  re 
ceived  it,  you  would  have  answered  it  and  put  me 
out  of  my  misery,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  I  was 
sent,  at  about  two  hours'  notice,  to  Afghanistan.  I 
wrote  from  Dinapore,  I  wrote  from  Cabul.  I  wrote 
twice,  in  fact,  from  Cabul.  Not  a  word  in  reply 
have  I  ever  heard  from  you." 

"Why  should  your  letters  not  have  been  deliv 
ered?"  asked  Eileen.  "You  ask  me  to  believe 
too  much." 


212  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

"  I  wrote  them,"  said  Jack,  "  and  posted  them, 
and  they  were  received  in  Calcutta." 

"  Your  own  father  sent  for  our  letters  for  weeks," 
said  Eileen,  scornfully ;  "  you  would  hardly  accuse 
him  of  intercepting  your  letters,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  accuse  no  one,"  said  Jack,  sadly.  "  The  let 
ters  were  written  and  sent.  I  want  to  explain  to 
you  my  apparent  rudeness  in  breaking  my  appoint 
ment  with  you,  without  word." 

"  I  accept  your  apology,"  said  Eileen,  wearily ; 
"  the  thing  was  of  no  consequence,  and  I  am  bound 
to  believe  the  word  of  your  father's  son." 

Jack  straightened  himself.  "  Please  believe  the 
word  of  John  Beverley,"  he  said,  "  on  its  own 
merits.  I  have  only  that  with  which  to  vouch  for 
my  truth.  You  do  not  know  that  my  word  has 
never  been  broken.  I  do." 

Eileen  sat  gazing  at  him  with  parted  lips  and 
bright  eyes.  She  partly  believed  in  him.  Alas,  it 
was  too  late  ! 

"  Whether  you  heard  from  me  or  not,  my  love  for 
you  remains." 

Eileen  started  to  her  feet.  "  Not  another  word," 
she  said ;  "  I  cannot  listen." 

"  Well,  then,"  cried  Jack,  hastily,  understanding 
her,  "  I  will  not  speak  of  that.  Let  us  confine  our 
selves  to  history.  Before  I  left  Calcutta  that  night, 
I  told  my  father  of  my  love,  and  asked  him  to  plead 
for  me." 

Eileen  put  her  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  If  it  is  a 
question  of  your  father's  honor,  sir,"  she  exclaimed 
with  flashing  eyes,  ''you  have  come  to  the  wrong 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  213 

person  to  attack  that.  I  wonder  at  your  lack  of 
delicacy  in  making  such  an  accusation." 

"  That  was  not  an  accusation,"  answered  Jack, 
getting  hotter  and  hotter,  as  he  felt  himself  more 
and  more  powerless.  "  It  was  a  simple  fact.  I  did 
not  say  that  he  had  not  done  so.  I  simply  stated 
that  my  father  was  my  confidant." 

"  Captain  Beverley,"  said  Eileen,  "  you  do  your 
self  great  wrong,  and  your  father  a  much  less  one. 
I  cannot  see  the  faintest  object  in  your  visit  to-night, 
or  this  interview." 

"  Eileen,"  said  Jack,  seizing  her  hand  and  trem 
bling,  "what  shall  I  do?  As  there  is  a  heaven 
above  us,  I  am  an  honest  man.  As  there  is  a 
heaven  above  us,  I  love  you ;  and  as  there  is  a 
heaven,  I  only  ask  you  to  believe  me.  Will  you 
answer  one  question?  Did  you  care  for  me  when 
you  seemed  to  do  so?  If  you  did,  I  will  live  for 
ever  on  that  blessed  recollection.  I  see  I  am 
powerless.  I  only  ask  to  know  the  truth.  Tell 
me." 

"  Answer  me  one  question,"  said  Eileen ;  "  why 
did  you  leave  Calcutta  so  suddenly?" 

"  Because  of  a  telegram  from  Dinapore,"  answered 
Jack,  "from Colonel  Denham-Browne.  He  behaved 
very  oddly  when  I  got  there,  and  treated  me  as  if  I 
were  in  disgrace  about  something.  He  kept  ad 
vising  me  not  to  go  back  to  Calcutta ;  in  fact,  he 
prevented  me  from  doing  so.  I  was  in  no  trouble 
at  all.  I  have  never  been  in  debt ;  I  had  no  em 
barrassments  of  any  kind.  I  was  sent  off  to  Cabul 
without  any  opportunities  for  explanation." 


214  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

"Did  you  write  your  father  regularly?"  she 
said. 

"  Of  course."  (Colonel  Beverley  had  declared 
to  Eileen  that  he  had  never  heard  from  Jack.) 

Eileen  now  interrupted  him.  "  I  do  not  under 
stand  it  at  all,"  she  said.  "  When  you  went  away, 
as  your  father  supposed  and  as  I  supposed,  without 
a  word  for  me,  he  tried  his  best  to  make  excuses  for 
you.  He  told  me  how  good  you  were,  —  that  you 
were  only  boyish  and  thoughtless." 

It  was  hard  for  Jack  to  hear  this.  "  Eileen,"  he 
broke  in,  "  I  have  loved  that  man  as  no  man  was 
ever  loved  by  a  son.  I  would  have  died  to  vindi 
cate  his  honor.  I  have  never  admitted  that  he  had 
a  fault."  Then,  stopping  suddenly,  he  said  to  her 
in  a  low  voice  and  with  great  emotion,  "  Are  you 
engaged  to  my  father?" 

Eileen  looked  at  him  and  nodded  her  head 
slowly.  "I  am,"  she  said,  "partly  engaged  to 
him." 

"  Then,  for  Heaven's  sake,  withdraw  !  "  he  said. 
"  If  it  were  for  his  good  or  yours  that  you  two 
should  marry,  I  am  the  last  man  on  earth  to  wish 
it  otherwise.  Leave  me  out  of  the  question.  I  will 
take  myself  off  to-morrow ;  but  I  can't,  I  can't  see 
this  thing  done." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Eileen  angrily.  "You  seem 
to  imply  some  fearful  misconduct.  Name  one  act." 

"  Eileen,"  broke  in  Jack,  "  for  weeks  I  was  by 
you,  with  you,  wherever  you  went.  I  read  in  your 
eyes  that  you  were  willing  it  should  be  so,  did 
I  not?  I  don't  understand  women  very  well,  but 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


2I5 


I  thought  I  could  not  be  mistaken.  I  asked  you 
to  grant  me  an  interview.  You  knew  as  well  as 
I  what  that  meant.  I  could  not  keep  the  appoint 
ment,  and  I  wrote  you  so.  I  asked  my  father  to 
explain  to  you  why  I  could  not  come,  and  to  assure 
you  of  my  love.  To  do  him  justice,  he  did  not 
undertake  to  do  so.  I  wrote  you  three  times  from 
the  northwest,  I  came  as  soon  as  I  could  to  tell  you. 
I  have  done  my  very  best.  Now  I  will  go,  only 
informing  you  that  there  are  reasons  why  it  would 
be  wrong  for  you  to  marry  my  father." 

"  Was  there  ever  a  woman  on  the  face  of  this 
earth  who  suffered  at  such  disadvantage  as  I?" 
exclaimed  Eileen.  "  I  cannot  listen  to  your  words 
of  affection,  —  I  mean  I  should  not  have  listened  to 
them.  It  is  dishonorable.  I  told  Colonel  Beverley 
this  very  day  that  I  would  be  his  wife  on  certain 
conditions.  He  has  been,  he  is,  more  than  kind, 
more  than  lover-like.  If  he  has  shirked  doing  for 
you  what  you  asked  him  to  do,  it  was  because  he 
loved  me  too.  It  is  a  fearful  complication.  I  shall 
break  it  all  off.  I  could  not  stand  such  a  state  of 
affairs  or  such  a  life.  There  would  be  enmity  be 
tween  you  two,  and  I  should  have  caused  it.  Hence 
forth,  we  will  all  be  strangers.  I  shall  believe  nothing 
ill  of  either  of  you." 

Jack  had  accomplished  his  object  in  ending  the 
affair  with  his  father,  and  it  mattered  little  to  him 
how  it  was  done. 

In  the  course  of  their  conversation  Eileen  and 
Jack  had  strolled  down  and  out,  and  found  them 
selves  outside  the  lodge-gate.  The  street  was  quiet 


2l6  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

like  a  lane,  and  they  walked  on  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening.  Neither  of  them  took  note  of  anything 
but  this  wretched  crisis.  When  they  were  coming 
back,  a  crouching  figure,  trembling,  cowering,  rose 
from  the  ground,  and  slouched  shrinking  beside 
Captain  Beverley,  mumbling  in  a  low  tone. 

"Jao!"  called  the  Captain,  pushing  the  fellow, 
whom  he  supposed  to  be  a  beggar,  aside  roughly. 

But  the  man,  with  great,  eager,  imploring  eyes, 
clasped  his  hands  together  and  besought  one  word. 
"  Protector  of  the  poor,  hear  me  ! "  he  cried.  Jack 
looked  at  him  a  second  time.  It  was  his  own 
bearer,  Kali  Dass.  "  Oh,  why  does  your  Honor 
send  his  slave  away?"  cried  the  poor  wretch. 
"  What  has  his  Honor's  suppliant  done  ?  If  he  has 
for  one  moment  forgotten  anything,  let  him  be 
beaten,  but  let  him  not  be  dismissed  from  the  light 
of  his  Master's  face." 

"  May  I  speak  to  him?  "  asked  Jack,  turning  to 
Eileen.  "  I  want  to  ask  him  something."  Eileen 
nodded.  "  Where  is  the  letter  I  gave  you  with  a 
thousand  directions  for  this  lady? "  asked  the 
Captain,  in  a  low  tone ;  for  he  did  not  wish  Eileen 
to  hear. 

"The  Colonel  Sahib  took  it  from  my  hand!" 
exclaimed  the  bearer,  fervently,  rushing  directly  be 
fore  Eileen.  "  He  said  I  will  give  it  myself  into 
the  hand  of  the  Lady  Ennen.  Oh,  Sahib,  I  speak 
truth,  I  speak  only  truth." 

"  If  they  only  ever  did  speak  truth  !  "  said  Eileen. 

But  constant  dripping  wears  away  a  stone,  and 
Eileen  began  to  think  that  the  Colonel  had  cer- 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


2I7 


tainly  had  some  objection  to  her  receiving  Jack's 
letters. 

"  Come  to  me  in  the  morning,"  said  Jack  to  the 
servant,  "  to  the  Great  Lord  Sahib's  house,  I  will 
see  you  there."  Jack  was  shaking  all  over.  "I 
promised  to  meet  my  father  at  ten.  It  is  that  now. 
Let  me  take  you  in." 

Affairs  had  taken  an  unexpected  turn  for  which 
Jack  was  unprepared ;  but  he  thought  Eileen  had 
had  excitement  enough  for  one  night,  and  he  wished 
to  leave  her  to  be  quiet.  Perhaps  sometime  she 
would  see  him  as  he  was. 

"  Good-by  to  you  both,"  said  Eileen,  gravely.  She 
walked  up  to  the  steps,  and  gave  her  hand  to  him  at 
the  door. 

"I  must  say  good-night  to  Lady  Barney,"  he  said. 
He  stalked  up  the  stairway,  and  found  her  on  the 
veranda  by  Barney's  door.  Eileen  disappeared  into 
her  room.  "  Good-night,  dear  Lady  Barney,"  he 
said ;  "  I  shall  be  off  in  the  morning.  Good  luck 
to  you,  Barney  !  "  he  called  out  cheerily ;  and  in  a 
lower  tone,  "  A  heartful  of  thanks  to  you,  kind 
friend." 

Then  he  turned  to  go.  Philippa  followed  him. 
"  It 's  all  wrong,  then?  "  she  said  anxiously. 

"All  wrong,"  said  Jack,  wiping  his  forehead. 
"  Wish  me  a  bloody  war  now.  I  've  got  to  fight  it 
off,  and  the  quicker  the  better." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Philippa,  sadly.  "  I  don't  know 
what  Eileen  does  want,  I  'm  sure." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

/COLONEL  BEVERLEY  paced  his  veranda  for 
^-/  an  hour  before  Jack  came.  He  had  left  his 
dinner  as  soon  as  the  guests  had  risen,  and  was  try 
ing  to  think  what  he  should  say  to  Jack  to  keep  him 
quiet.  He  was  not  anxious  to  be  regarded  in  a 
favorable  light  particularly,  except  in  so  far  as  that 
would  keep  Jack  from  speaking  to  Eileen  about 
him. 

He  was  out  of  sorts.  A  vainer  man  never  lived ; 
and  throughout  this  singular  courtship,  in  which  he 
had  figured  as  a  suppliant,  and  Eileen  as  a  queen, 
doling  out  her  favors  or  withholding  them,  he 
had  been  uncomfortable  and  out  of  his  element. 
Women  had  always  flattered  and  cajoled  Colonel 
Beverley.  He  was  the  idol  of  at  least  a  dozen. 
Eileen  was  no  match  for  him.  She  was  not  really 
in  society  at  home,  nor  more  than  scantily  approved 
of  in  Calcutta.  Tolerably  well  born,  yes ;  well, 
very  well  born ;  not  rich,  not  influential,  not  even 
dignified,  but  bewitching,  fascinating,  alluring.  No 
man  could  withstand  that  indescribable  charm. 
Variety  was  the  soul  of  it.  She  was  never  twice 
alike.  He  had  seen  her  cross  and  angelic  in  five 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


219 


short  seconds.  Each  mood  was  more  captivating 
than  the  one  before  it.  Indifference  became  her ; 
preoccupation,  listlessness,  industry  in  fitful  gusts, 
as  it  usually  swept  over  her,  —  everything  sat  well 
upon  her  dainty  shoulders.  Her  voice  was  sweet, 
her  tones  were  cool  and  yet  exciting.  Everybody 
listened  when  Eileen  spoke.  There  was  a  freshness, 
a  breeziness  which  caught  the  ear  instantly.  She 
seemed  less  active  than  she  had  before  that  little 
voyage  to  Ceylon,  not  in  the  quality  of  her  move 
ments,  but  in  the  number  of  them.  Grace  was  still 
the  feature  of  them  all.  There  was  never  a  trace 
of  real  languor  about  Eileen,  although  she  some 
times  feigned  it.  Even  in  her  fatigues  she  was  keenly 
alert. 

Colonel  Beverley  had  not  really  wished  to  marry 
her,  until  he  found  that  she  had  never  dreamed  of 
him  as  a  suitor.  Then  his  vanity  was  touched,  his 
ambition  fired.  If  only  he  could  shake  off  the  con 
suming  passion  he  felt  for  her  now,  he  would  gladly 
give  her  up.  Marriage  was  a  bore,  was  distasteful 
to  him.  He  had  been  free  so  long ;  his  nature  was 
fickle.  He  wanted  a  rich  wife,  if  any ;  at  all  events, 
a  distinguished  one.  But  this  Irish  girl,  with  her 
irresistible  allurements,  kept  him  more  on  the  rack 
than  if  he  had  been  the  rawest  of  raw  fledglings,  and 
this  his  first  affair  of  the  heart.  To-night  his  heart 
throbbed  with  the  pleasure  of  his  day  with  Eileen  as 
if  he  had  been  a  school-boy.  He  could  afford  to  be 
pleasant  and  fatherly  and  forgiving  to  Jack.  Poor 
fellow  !  It  was  vulgar,  this  expedient  of  his.  Inter 
cepting  letters  was  only  fit  for  cads.  But  it  made 


220  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

a  simple  thing  out  of  what  might  have  been  a  lon 
ger  and  more  complicated  task.  Of  course  he  was 
sure  to  win. 

Jack  walked  in  with  a  dark  frown  on  his  face. 
His  father  might  say  what  he  chose  without  inter 
ruption  ;  he  should  not  speak,  except  to  let  him  un 
derstand  that  he  knew  everything.  And  after  the 
lame  explanation  —  or  whatever  the  pretext  of  this 
interview  was  —  had  been  made,  he,  the  son,  would 
leave  his  father  forever.  Eileen  was  lost  to  him,  too ; 
but  a  legitimate  loss  was  at  least  one  that  could  be 
faced.  And  he  had  still  her  image ;  the  other  was 
broken  into  a  million  bits. 

Jack's  mood  was  no  bitterer  than  before.  He 
had  gained  his  point  in  that  he  had  succeeded  in 
preventing  this  unholy  marriage,  and  the  rest  he 
could  bear.  Still,  his  state  was  a  trifle  dangerous 
for  the  tone  Colonel  Beverley  was  about  to  adopt ; 
and  a  touch  of  fever,  which  tent-life  had  begun,  and 
to  which  excitement,  rage,  and  despair  had  lent  im 
petus,  was  sending  the  blood  through  his  veins  at  a 
more  rapid  gait  than  was  normal,  even  to  a  desperate 
man. 

"  Sit  down,  Jack !  "  the  Colonel  said  affably. 
"  Have  a  cheroot,  and  I  will  send  for  a  peg  for  you  ; 
then  I  can  explain  this  little  misunderstanding  to 
your  satisfaction." 

Jack's  resolution  not  to  speak  flew  to  the  winds. 
"The  only  misunderstanding,  sir,"  he  said  sternly, 
"  is  yours  now,  if  you  think  I  am  to  be  put  off  with 
baby-talk.  When  you  tell  me  what  you  did  with 
the  letter  you  took  from  my  bearer,  and  the  three 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  22l 

letters  you  took  out  of  the  post-office  addressed  to 
Lady  Eileen  Beaufort,  —  what  you  meant  by  telling 
her  that  I  was  thoughtless,  and  had  forgotten  my  ap 
pointment  with  her,  together  with  a  variety  of  other 
strange  actions  of  yours  in  reference  to  me,  it  will  be 
time  to  talk  about  sitting  down  in  your  house,  and 
smoking  and  drinking  with  you." 

"  Even  the  missionaries  atlach  slight  importance  to 
the  word  of  a  native,  I  believe,"  answered  Colonel 
Beverley,  lying  back  comfortably  in  his  chair,  his  arm 
behind  his  head,  and  puffing  at  his  cigar.  "  Your 
belief  in  the  race  does  you  infinite  credit,  I  'm  sure. 
You  have  alluded — and  '  alluded '  is  a  delicate  way  of 
stating  your  rough  language  —  to  '  letters '  before,  and 
I  should  like  to  know  what  you  meant.  Your  bearer 
was  dismissed  for  stealing,  and  has  hunted  you  up, 
I  suppose,  with  a  cock-and-bull-story  of  his  having 
given  your  letter  to  me.  As  for  the  other  effusions, 
they  probably  burned  themselves  up  with  sponta 
neous  combustion,  if  they  were  in  your  inflammable 
style  when  you  left.  My  jemadar,  who  is  another 
artistic  liar,  took  the  Winterfords'  letters  from  the 
office,  and  if  there  were  any  for  Lady  Ellen  among 
them,  it  was  when  she  was  away,  possibly,  and  they 
are  lying  about  now  somewhere,  in  which  case  they 
can  be  found.  When  you  accuse  your  own  father  of 
stealing  your  idiot  trash,  —  and  I  can't  put  any  other 
construction  on  your  talk,  —  you  simply  show  your 
tender  age.  It 's  time  you  were  a  man,  and  learned 
to  bear  the  ordinary  reverses  of  life  with  some  sense. 
Trumping  up  tales  against  me  to  make  your  defeat 
look  like  treachery  on  my  part,  is  the  dodge  of  an 


222  THE  B EVER  LEYS. 

infant,  and  does  your  intelligence  small  credit,  to  say 
nothing  of  its  insufferable  insolence.  You  are  lying, 
and  you  know  it,  when  you  make  such  an  attack 
upon  an  honor  which  should  be  as  dear  to  you  as 
your  own." 

"  Have  a  care,  sir  !  "  retorted  Jack,  striding  forward 
a  step.  "  It  is  the  second  time  to-day  you  have 
given  me  the  lie.  Listen  to  me  for  a  moment !  I 
send  a  letter  to  Lady  Eileen  Beaufort,  which  she 
never  sees.  My  bearer  says  you  took  it  from  him. 
That  alone  would  be  nothing,  I  admit.  I  send  a  let 
ter  from  Dinapore,  and  two  letters  from  Cabul,  im 
ploring  just  acknowledgment  at  last,  that 's  all.  She 
never  gets  these.  I  write  to  the  post-office  here,  to 
make  investigation ;  I  am  assured  that  all  the  Win- 
terfords'  and  Lady  Eileen  Beaufort's  letters  have 
been  put  into  your  hands, — not  your  jemadar's, 
but  yours  !  A  fourth  letter  is  sent,  and  you  are  seen 
to  take  it.  Lady  Eileen  never — " 

Colonel  Beverley  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  had  been 
growing  gradually  whiter  and  whiter,  and  livid  spots 
appeared  upon  his  face.  "So  you  set  spies  upon 
me,  do  you  ?  —  spies  upon  your  father  in  a  pub 
lic  way  !  The  postmaster  has  been  watching  me, 
eh?  and  at  your  instigation?  Do  you  know  what 
you  have  done  ?  Do  you  know  that  you  have  been 
guilty  of  the  lowest,  dirtiest  trick  a  man  can  be  guilty 
of?  This  serves  me  right,"  he  said,  still  glaring  at 
Jack,  "  for  presuming  to  suppose  that  birth  and 
breeding  would  come  out  of  themselves,  and  that 
a  gentleman's  son  could  be  trusted  alone.  Here 
you  are,  grown  to  manhood,  only  to  develop  a  set 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


223 


of  traits  that  would  not  do  credit  to  the  average 
bootblack  !  " 

Jack  went  on,  without  answering  these  flings,  al 
though  he  felt  himself  growing  more  and  more  hot. 
"Added  to  all  this,"  he  went  on  as  calmly  as  he 
could,  "  you  wrote  me  evasive  letters,  pretending  to 
give  me  news  of  Lady  Eileen,  and  giving  me  less 
than  none,  —  telling  absolute  falsehoods  about  her, 
—  while  all  the  time  you  were  paving  the  way 
for  your  own  schemes.  I  have  not  set  spies  upon 
you ;  I  wished  to  know  why  my  letters  were  kept 
back.  The  postmaster  knows  nothing  of  the  truth, 
nor  will  he  know.  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  pub 
lish  my  family  disgrace.  But  your  explanation,  as 
you  call  it,  goes  for  nothing  in  the  face  of  such 
damning  proof  as  I  have." 

"  And  this  is  what  one  gets  for  devotion  ! "  the 
Colonel  said,  with  a  sneer.  "  I  try  to  save  you  from 
defeat,  from  being  badly  hurt  at  the  hands  of  a 
woman  of  the  world  who  was  playing  with  you." 
Jack  clinched  his  fists.  "I  thought  I  would  not 
tell  you  this  before ;  but  you  are  so  confoundedly 
hot-headed  and  go  off  so  at  half-cock  that  one  has 
to  be  brutal  with  you.  Ellen  Beaufort  never  cared 
for  you ;  she  was  amusing  herself.  I  saw  that  di 
rectly  you  went  away.  I  suspected  it,  and  sounded 
her  carefully.  I  tried  to  tell  her  why  you  did  not  go 
that  morning,  although,  as  I  knew  you  had  written 
her  yourself,  there  was  no  special  need  of  my  in 
terference.  '  He  is  a  silly  boy,'  she  said  ;  '  the  ap 
pointment  was  nothing.  If  he  cares  for  me,  he  'd 
better  stay  away  and  forget  me.'  Of  course,  with 


224  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

things  in  that  condition,  I  did  not  think  best  to  feed 
your  flame  with  bits  of  detail  about  Lady  Ellen's 
movements.  I  purposely  made  slight,  misleading 
allusions  to  her,  or  none  at  all,  in  my  letters  to  you. 
I  admit  so  much.  I  was  thrown  with  them  con 
stantly  in  this  recent  trouble  of  theirs,  —  with  Barney 
and  all  that.  They  depended  upon  me  and  confided 
in  me,  and  I  grew  more  intimate  than  ever  with  the 
family.  As  for  Ellen,"  —  here  the  Colonel  looked 
gentler,  and  in  fact  he  had  relaxed  from  his  haughty 
anger  somewhat  as  he  talked,  —  "I  have  grown 
deeply  attached  to  her,  as  her  affection  for  me  has  be 
come  more  and  more  evident.  To-day  we  became 
more  than  friends.  Now  let  us  be  friends,  Jack,  and 
forget  all  this  boyish  nonsense  of  yours.  If  I  choose 
to  forgive  black  insults  from  you,  surely  you  can  meet 
me  half-way,  if  you  are  sore  from  defeat.  You  will 
adore  Lady  Ellen  as  a  young  stepmother,  and  we 
shall  have  great  larks  together.  You  could  never 
have  won  her  for  your  wife ;  it  was  absurd  to  dream 
of  it." 

The  blood  had  surged  and  ebbed  and  raced  and 
receded  from  Jack's  forehead,  his  cheeks,  his  throat. 
His  eyeballs  burned,  his  lips  grew  white  as  snow. 
He  grasped  the  table,  to  steady  himself.  His  voice 
trembled  so  that  he  was  hardly  articulate  when  he 
spoke  at  last. 

"  Lady  Ellen  Beaufort  does  not  intend  to  marry 
you,  sir  !  "  he  could  not  resist  saying.  "  I  bring  you 
this  news,  although  not  as  a  message.  She  will 
communicate  with  you  herself." 

Colonel  Beverley  sprang  at  his   son,  and  caught 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


225 


him  by  the  collar.  "  You  whelp  !  "  he  ejaculated 
between  his  teeth ;  and  this  time  his  voice  shook. 

Jack  remained  passive  in  his  hands.  "  I  shall 
not  strike  you,  sir,"  said  Jack;  "but  perhaps  you'd 
better  keep  your  hands  off  me." 

"Strike  me?"  gasped  the  other,  shaking  Jack  vio 
lently,  and  throwing  him  off  so  abruptly  and  with 
such  force  as  to  send  him  against  the  edge  of  the 
doorway,  inflicting  rather  a  severe  cut  upon  Jack's 
head.  A  fight  with  his  son  would  put  the  last 
touches  to  Eileen's  contemplated  rejection,  if  this 
were  authentic  news  the  boy  brought,  and  he  must 
be  well  and  strong  in  the  morning  to  begin  the  bom 
bardment  again.  He  would  marry  her  or  die. 
"  I  can't  fight  with  you,"  he  said  contemptuously. 
"  I  have  a  right  to  thrash  you  soundly,  and  you 
richly  deserve  it.  But  I  won't  fight  with  you.  Dogs, 
children,  and  fools  are  barred.  We  '11  meet  publicly 
as  friends,  although  I  shall  have  hard  work  to  keep 
my  hands  off  you ;  one  must  keep  up  the  decencies 
of  life.  But  let  me  hear  of  your  seeing  my  promised 
wife,  and  trying  to  poison  her  mind  with  your  infa 
mous  lies  about  me,  and  I  '11  —  " 

"  Two  can  play  at  infamous  lies,  but  one  won't," 
replied  Jack.  "  I  leave  you,  sir,  and  I  advise  you 
to  rap  the  next  rival  over  the  head,  or  put  a  bullet 
through  him.  You  '11  find  it  a  more  paying  invest 
ment  than  trying  to  circumvent  him  with  trickery." 
And  Jack  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

JACK  wandered  on  and  on,  not  knowing  or  car 
ing  where  he  went.  Fever  was  racing  through 
him ;  he  knew  nothing  could  save  him  now  from  a 
bout  of  it.  "  My  father  gone,"  he  almost  mumbled, 
—  "  no  father  any  more.  Where  is  the  man  I  have 
worshipped?  There  never  was  such  a  man;  this 
was  in  him,  or  it  couldn't  have  come  out.  And 
Eileen  lost,  what  have  I  left?  My  trade,  that's 
all.  I  shall  petition  to  join  my  regiment.  Never 
one  peaceful  breath  will  I  draw  again ;  and  as  for 
Calcutta,  to-morrow  I  will  leave  it  forever." 

Jack  staggered  in  at  Government  House,  and 
found  Carbury  just  going  to  bed.  'It  was  nearly 
morning.  "  Come,  Tommy  ! "  said  Jack,  feigning 
joviality,  "  let 's  have  a  game  of  pool.  Don't  go  to 
bed,  there  's  a  good  fellow  !  Some  of  them  are  up ; 
I  heard  the  balls  clicking.  Stanhope  and  Villars  are 
there,  I  know.  Come  on  !  " 

"  Then  you  're  not '  off  in  the  morning,'  "  laughed 
Tom,  deceived  for  a  moment  by  the  manner; 
"  you  're  going  to  '  hang  about  for  a  week,'  eh?  I 
congratulate  you." 


THE    B  EVER  LEYS. 


227 


"  On  what?  "  said  Jack,  —  "  on  the  death  and  bur 
ial  of  every  tie  I  had,  —  all  I  cared  for  in  the  world  ? 
I  Ve  just  been  to  all  their  funerals,  and  I  'm  feeling 
jolly,  because  there  is  nothing  left  I  can  possibly  feel, 
a  pang  about  in  future.  That 's  a  good  deal  to 
be  thankful  for,  is  n't  it?  I  'm  really  to  be  envied, 
now  I  tell  you,  Tom  !  " 

Carbury  turned  and  looked  at  Jack.  He  was  fa 
miliar  with  this  phase  of  misanthropy  too.  It  usu 
ally  followed  hard  upon  the  other.  "  I  don't  want 
to  celebrate  your  misfortunes,  if  you  do,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  'm  deuced  sorry  to  see  you  so  ill,  for  that 's 
what 's  the  matter.  You  're  well  on  for  jungle  fever, 
old  man  !  "  Tom  added  anxiously,  grasping  Jack's 
wrist,  and  feeling  his  pulse  throb  wildly,  "  and  you 
must  go  to  bed  !  " 

"  Bed  ?  "  sneered  Jack.  "  I  'm  not  going  to  bed 
in  this  hole.  I  can't  sleep  till  I  get  to  my  own 
rough  cot  in  my  own  little  tent,  —  the  bed  of  a 
soldier." 

Could  it  be  that  he  had  been  drinking?  thought 
Tom.  No,  he  was  excited  and  very  feverish. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  any  of  your  down  pillows 
and  satin  counterpanes.  What  I  want  is  a  —  "  And 
here  Jack  burst  into  rather  an  unintelligible  strain, 
which  settled  Tom  in  his  determination  to  get  him 
off  to  bed,  and  send  the  surgeon  to  him. 

"What  on  earth  can  it  be?"  Tom  thought. 
"  Lady  Eileen's  refusal  would  not  account  for  all 
this.  There  's  something  wrong  with  his  governor. 
There  was  blood  on  his  shirt-collar  too.  Oh,  I  see  ! 
It 's  a  case  of  father  versus  son.  and  of  course  the 


228  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

father  in  this  case  wins.  I  'm  awfully  sorry.  I 
wonder  if  that  lovely  thing  is  going  to  marry  that 
man.  You  never  can  tell  what  a  woman  will 
do." 

Jack  could  not  be  kept  quiet  just  then.    He  came 
rambling  back  into  Tom's  room,  and  insisted  upon 
talking.      He  was   not    exactly  delirious,  only  ex- ' 
cited ;    and  Tom  at  last  thought  it  better  to  let  him 
go  on. 

"  Tom,"  he  said,  "  I  know  you  think  I  'm  an  aw 
ful  baby,  but  I  Ve  had  such  hard  blows.  You 
don't  know,  Tom.  Don't  think  it 's  all  because  of  a 
woman  I  am  so  cut  up.  It  "s  worse  than  that ;  that 's 
simple.  Until  I  get  used  to  it  a  bit  I  shall  be  deuced 
eccentric,  I  know.  It  drives  me  perfectly  mad.  It 
settles  down  and  over  me  like  the  black  cap  a  man  is 
hanged  in.  I  can't  see  straight,  —  I  can't,  Tom.  I 
don't  know  much,"  he  went  on.  "  A  fool  could  cheat 
me.  I  Ve  never  suspected  any  one.  Soldiering 's  all 
I  Ve  got  solid,  and  that 's  all  I  want  now.  Thank 
God  !  I  have  n't  done  a  dirty  action  yet.  I  Ve  got 
clean  hands ;  and  if  ever  I  do  anything  mean,  I  hope 
I  shall  be  drawn  through  the  Hooghli  current,  at  the 
tail  of  a  dinghi,  with  crocodiles  biting  me  at  every 
step." 

"  You  won't  think  you  're  mean,  if  you  ever  get 
to  be  so,"  said  Tom,  quietly.  "  A  man  falls  into  it 
gradually.  What  he  wants  he  thinks  he  deserves ; 
and  if  he  does  n't  get  it,  he  thinks  it 's  others  who 
are  cheating  him." 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  "  it  does  n't  come  gradually. 
It 's  in  a  man,  and  comes  out.  Never  mind,  Tom  ! 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS. 


229 


You  're  a  good  fellow ;  and  if  I  had  n't  had  you 
here,  I  should  have  made  a  good  deal  bigger  ass 
of  myself." 

Of  course  Jack  was  not  able  to  go  away  in  the 
morning,  nor  for  several  mornings.  Carbury  wanted 
to  send  for  his  father,  but  Jack  announced  decidedly 
that  that  was  not  to  be  done. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

T 17 HEN  Jack  Beverley  had  gone,  after  that  ex- 
*  *  tremely  unpleasant  evening  at  the  Winter- 
fords',  Eileen  was  as  thoroughly  unhappy  and 
uncomfortable  as  she  had  ever  been  in  her  whole  life. 
Although  she  had  been  as  discreet  as  she  knew  how  to 
be  with  Jack  on  the  subject  of  his  father,  nothing  but 
a  guilty  recollection  of  the  tie  she  had  herself  been 
coaxed  into  forming  that  day  had  kept  her  from  re 
nouncing  Colonel  Beverley' s  acquaintance  forever, 
and  letting  Jack  see  the  real  state  of  her  feeling  toward 
him.  For  Eileen  knew,  when  she  saw  the  young 
man,  so  honest,  so  good,  so  manly,  standing  before 
her,  almost  tongue-tied,  that  he  was  the  only  being 
she  cared  for  sufficiently  to  marry.  And  he  was  the 
very  one  she  could  not  marry.  There  was  her  fate 
again ;  self-rushed  upon,  but  no  matter !  It  was 
fate,  just  the  same,  and  she  could  not  escape  it. 
Marry  the  Colonel  ?  Never .'  He  had  forfeited  the 
right  to  her  esteem  ;  for  if  Jack  was  truthful  in  even 
the  little  he  had  said  or  implied,  his  father  was  the 
opposite.  He  must  have  intercepted  her  letters 
from  Jack,  and  he  had  deceived  her  about  him. 
Jack  would  never  have  made  the  statements  he 
had  made  to  her  that  night,  if  they  had  not  been 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


23I 


true.  And  all  the  Colonel's  sadness  and  his  apolo 
gies  for  his  son's  negligence  were  feigned.  It  was  a 
relief  to  know  it ;  for  to  believe  ill  of  Jack  Beverley 
had  been  hard  for  her,  whereas  she  cared  so  little  in 
her  heart  for  his  father.  "  Oh,  Jack,  dear  Jack," 
she  called  aloud,  "  I  could  not  tell  you,  darling  boy, 
but  I  do  love  you.  Perhaps  if  I  could  have  you, 
I  should  not,  I  am  so  unprincipled ;  but  now  that 
you  are  lost  to  me,  I  cannot  live  without  you ! " 
He  wanted  truth,  she  said ;  and  truth  he  shall  have, 
now  that  it  is  too  late.  And  so,  after  she  had  framed 
a  startling  resolution,  which  was  to  take  her  world 
by  surprise  in  the  morning,  she  penned  Jack  a  com 
forting  little  note,  or  at  least  it  was  comforting  to 
her  to  write  it.  The  note  was  laid  beside  Jack's 
bedside ;  and  when  he  could,  he  read  it.  But  it  did 
not  cure  his  fever,  and  in  fact  he  was  decidedly 
light-headed  after  reading  it.  It  was,  as  the  French 
say,  thus  conceived  :  — 

MY  DEAR  JACK  [that  was  good  for  two  degrees  of 
temperature,  at  least],  —  Is  truth  best?  And  do  you 
really  want  to  know  it  ?  Then  I  will  tell  you  it.  I  have 
cared  for  you  more  than  for  any  other  man.  I  say 
"have  cared,"  because,  dear  Jack,  we  are  the  victims  of 
fate,  and  have  been  vanquished.  Do  not  try  to  see  me. 
We  cannot  trust  ourselves  yet,  and  we  must  not  see 
each  other.  A  shadow  is  between  us,  and  we  can 
never  drive  it  away.  Bear  it,  Jack,  as  I  shall ;  and  when 
you  hear  what  I  have  done,  do  not  despise  me.  It  is 
for  the  sake  of  one  who  loves  me  as  I  do  not  deserve  to 
be  loved,  —  and  who  is  better  than  either  you  or  I,  or 
anybody  else  in  the  world.  By  and  by  we  can  be 
friends;  not  yet,  because  we  cannot  trust  ourselves. 

Yours,  ELLEN. 


232  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

"When  you  hear  what  I  have  done  —  for  the 
sake  of  one  who  loves  me  better  than  I  deserve  — 
who  is  better  than  anyone  else  in  the  world  —  " 
Jack's  head  swam,  and  strange  lights  flickered  be 
fore  his  hot  eyeballs,  as  he  went  over  and  over  the 
unintelligible  words.  It  was  not  long  before  he 
learned  what  they  meant ;  but  Tom  Carbury,  seeing 
the  effect  of  the  note,  took  care  he  should  not  learn 
any  startling  tidings  until  he  was  out  of  the  woods. 
But  all  that  day  he  murmured  and  mumbled,  "  Who 
is  better  than  you  or  I,  —  who  loves  me  as  I  do  not 
deserve  to  be  loved,"  and  fell  into  little  troubled 
naps,  still  mumbling. 

Eileen  was  busy  nearly  all  night ;  and  Colonel  Bev- 
erley  received  one  of  the  fruits  of  her  industry,  which 
sent  him  into  paroxysms  of  wild  rage.  It  began  :  — 

MY  DEAR  COLONEL  BEVERLEY,  —  I  retract  the  half 
promise  ["  Half  promise  !  "  he  muttered.  "  Most  mem 
ories  add ;  hers  subtracts  "]  I  made  you  yesterday.  I 
never  should  have  made  it;  but  having  done  so,  I 
now  assure  you  that  no  power  on  earth  shall  make  me 
keep  it.  Consider  me  absolved,  and  by  no  means  come 
to  see  me  at  present. 

Yours  sincerely,  ELLEN  BEAUFORT. 

A  thousand  devils  !  Jack's  work,  of  course  !  He 
had  told  her  about  the  letters.  The  Colonel  swore 
until  the  air  was  dark  about  him,  —  bright,  sunny 
morning  though  it  was.  He  had  been  prepared, 
and  had  got  up  early,  determined  to  open  the  cam 
paign  before  Jack  could  arrive  on  the  spot.  The  Colo 
nel's  bearer  had  never  gone  through  quite  so  much 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


233 


at  his  master's  hands  —  or  his  lips,  rather  —  as  in  that 
morning's  dressing.  Jack,  thought  the  Colonel,  Jack, 
the  cub,  the  un  dutiful,  hypocritical,  moral  son  who 
had  worried  him  more  by  his  candor  and  virtue  than 
if  he  had  run  into  debt  or  scrapes,  a  thousand  times, 
—  Jack  has  done  me  this  turn.  "  I  should  like  to  kill 
him,"  gasped  the  Colonel.  "  '  She  will  not  marry 
you  ! '  "  he  quoted  mockingly.  "She  won't,  won't 
she  ?  We  shall  see  about  that !  I  '11  marry  her  in 
the  teeth  of  Satan,  and  I  '11  marry  her  in  a  month 
too ;  and  if  we  ever  have  a  son,  I  '11  strangle  him 
the  moment  he  is  born." 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost ;  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  strolling  in  at  the  Winterfords'  in  the  mornings. 
Choking,  apoplectic,  yet  outwardly  calm  enough,  he 
went  out  his  door  and  into  his  brougham.  The  syce 
had  brought  his  buggy  as  usual,  and  he  found  he 
could  not  drive,  his  hand  shook  so.  He  wanted  to 
carry  Ellen  off  on  a  pillion,  like  Lochinvar,  while 
the  fools  looked  on  and  gaped.  Oh  for  the  old 
days  when  men  fought  and  won  the  women  they 
wanted  !  That  was  what  Jack  had  thought  too.  The 
point  of  view  changed  the  aspect  somewhat.  Colo 
nel  Beverley  looked  upon  himself  as  an  injured  man. 
"  Love  her  !  "  he  said.  "  I  don't  know  and  I  don't 
care  whether  I  love  her  or  not,  or  whether  she  loves 
me  or  not.  She  's  beautiful,  the  minx,  and  bewitch 
ing  ;  and  I  '11  tame  her,  that 's  all.  She  thinks  she 
can  play  her  men  as  she  chooses ;  I  '11  teach  her  how 
to  treat  this  one." 

Arrived  at  the  Winterfords',  he  strolled  about,  and 
found  no  one.  They  had  not  breakfasted,  the  ser- 


234 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


vant  said.  The  brougham  was  ordered  at  ten.  Colo 
nel  Beverley  wrote  on  his  card,  and  sent  it  to  Eileen, 
"  I  must  see  you  ;  I  will  wait." 

The  bearer  returned.  "  Lady  Ennen  was  asleep," 
the  ayah  said,  "  and  was  not  to  be  disturbed."  But 
the  Colonel  did  not  go. 

After  a  time  Philippa  came  downstairs.  Colonel 
Beverley  asked  anxiously  if  he  might  not  see  Eileen. 
"  I  feel  I  have  a  right  now,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  half 
knowing,  half  tender,  and  throwing  his  promise  of 
the  day  before  to  the  winds.  Why  should  he  keep 
it  now? 

"  I  advise  you  not  to  talk  about  '  rights,'  with  her 
Imperial  Highness,"  laughed  Philippa.  "  Her  ayah 
is  on  guard,  and  I  was  not  allowed  to  put  my  head 
inside  the  dressing-room  door  even.  I  received  a 
written  request  to  drive  with  the  lady  at  ten,  and  I 
fancy  she  breakfasts  in  her  own  room,  for  it  is  that 
now." 

The  brougham  could  hardly  be  brought  to  Eileen's 
bedroom-door,  but  Eileen  was  determined  not  to  be 
waylaid  by  her  indignant  lover.  The  bathrooms  had 
staircases  leading  down  from  them  outside,  —  spiral 
ways  enclosed  in  a  kind  of  turret.  She  ran  down 
the  spiral  stair,  and  got  into  the  carriage,  for  which 
she  beckoned.  Then  she  sent  a  salaam  to  Lady 
Barney,  who  was  waiting  at  the  door.  Colonel  Bev 
erley  went  with  Philippa,  to  put  her  in  at  the  tower- 
door.  He  was  as  resolute  as  Eileen.  "  Ellen,"  he 
said  in  an  authoritative  tone,  "  I  am  waiting  to  speak 
to  you.  Will  you  grant  me  five  minutes  now?" 

"  I   am    going    on   an   important   errand    now," 


THE  D  EVER  LEYS. 


235 


she  said ;  "  I  will  give  you  an  interview  at  twelve 
o'clock." 

Colonel  Beverley  put  his  hand  on  the  carriage- 
door.  "  Forgive  me  for  being  so  persistent,"  he 
urged,  in  a  peremptory  tone  which  belied  his  gentle 
phrase ;  "  two  minutes  will  do,  but  they  must  be 
these."  He  felt  sure  she  was  on  her  way  to  meet 
Jack,  and  he  must  talk  to  her  before  that,  or  all  was 
ended. 

Eileen  drew  herself  up  haughtily.  "  Is  a  woman 
at  the  mercy  of  a  man,  then,"  she  asked,  "  that  she 
may  not  choose  her  own  times?  At  twelve  o'clock 
you  may  see  me,  Colonel  Beverley,  and  not  an  instant 
before." 

The  enraged  Colonel  bit  his  lip,  raised  his  hat, 
shut  the  door  which  he  had  opened  for  Philippa, 
and  they  were  gone.  "Damn  her!"  he  muttered. 
"  She  has  beaten.  She  will  come  back  engaged  to 
Jack,  and  together  they  will  defy  me.  Engaged  to 
him  !  No  money,  not  a  pice,  either  of  them,  and 
no  prospect  of  any.  Fools  !  She  shall  be  publicly 
engaged  to  me,  I  swear;  and  if  that  is  the  most 
I  can  do,  I  will  publicly  throw  her  over,  by  Jove  ! 
I  have  a  thousand  minds  to  go  to  the  Club  now 
and  proclaim  our  engagement.  Perhaps  I  'd  better 
wait  until  after  twelve.  This  errand  of  life  and  death 
may  be  an  appointment  with  the  dressmaker.  Curse 
her  !  What  frightful  airs  she  gives  herself !  And 
what  an  exquisite  hussy  it  is  too  !  " 

"What  is  all  this ?  "  asked  Philippa,  anxiously,  when 
they  were  outside  the  gate.  "Why  do  you  treat 
Colonel  Beverley  so,  and  where  are  we  going?" 


236  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

Philippa  did  not  repose  that  blind  confidence  in  her 
pilot  which  enabled  her  to  approve,  uninformed,  of 
the  purpose  of  the  expedition.  She  had  supposed 
it  to  be  a  shopping-tour.  In  fact,  when  Colonel 
Beverley  had  asked  what  order  to  give  the  coach 
man,  as  he  shut  the  brougham-door,  Eileen  had 
given  him  the  name  of  an  English  shop  in  the  town. 
But  that  did  not  quite  satisfy  Philippa  now. 

"  Philippa,"  Eileen  said,  clasping  her  sister's  hand 
and  drawing  close  to  her,  "  I  am  going  to  that  dear 
man  who  loves  me  so,  and  whom  I  have  almost 
brought  to  death  by  my  wickedness.  I  am  going  to 
give  myself  to  him ;  please  God,  I  can  bring  him 
back  to  health,  and  at  least  I  know  I  can  make  him 
happy." 

Philippa's  eyes  were  nearly  out  of  her  head.  Her 
brain  reeled  at  the  suddenness  of  the  girl's  gyrations. 
"  Eileen ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  shall  not  do  this 
insane  thing  !  Why  should  you  ?  What  has  brought 
you  to  it  ?  Not  our  affairs,  Eileen  ?  You  know  we 
do  not  need  you  to  do  it  for  us ;  and  as  for  yourself, 
you  know  you  are  always  to  share  with  us.  Besides, 
Eileen,  you  must  stop  these  wild,  madcap  actions  of 
yours.  I  will  not  lend  my  countenance  to  them. 
What  have  you  done  to  Colonel  Beverley?  Yester 
day  you  two  were  like  lovers,  and  you  must  have 
given  him  definite  encouragement,  for  he  said  he 
had  a  right  to  see  you  this  morning." 

"  A  right  to  see  me,  has  he  ?  "  broke  in  Eileen, 
her 'face  crimson.  "  Philippa,  he  did  have  a  right. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  he  has  forfeited  the  right,  or  the 
right  to  a  decent  woman's  esteem;  but  he  knows 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


237 


perfectly.  I  made  him  a  promise,  —  you  know  how 
he  has  pursued  me,  —  and  I  was  so  tired  of  this 
everlasting  restlessness,  I  wanted  an  anchorage  ;  but 
that  is  over.  As  for  Mr.  Warwick's  money,  I  shall 
not  touch  it ;  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question. 
I  wish  he  were  as  poor  as  Job,  that  1  might  work  for 
him.  I  hate  Colonel  Beverley,"  she  went  on,  with 
a  ring  of  rage  in  her  voice  which  would  not  have 
pleased  the  Colonel,  nor  encouraged  him,  "and  I 
cannot  marry  Jack." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Philippa,  quickly.  "He  is 
devoted  to  you  too,  and  such  a  fine  fellow,  near  your 
age,  and  I  know  you  like  him." 

"  It  's  not  a  question  of  liking,  either,"  answered 
Eileen,  firmly,  shutting  her  eyes.  "  Marriage  with 
him  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  To  marry  Mr.  Warwick 
is  my  intention.  This  is  not  an  impulse,  Philippa ; 
you  will  see.  If  I  am  ever  to  do  anything  for  a  hu 
man  being,  this  is  my  opportunity.  It  is  no  use  to 
try  to  cross  me  now,  Philippa.  I  shall  go  alone  if 
you  don't  go  with  me,  for  I  am  determined." 

Philippa  shook  her  head,  and  a  very  anxious  frown 
was  on  her  forehead.  She  hardly  knew  what  to  do  ; 
but  it  was  very  evident  that  Eileen  would  do  exactly 
as  she  chose.  There  was  no  restraining  her  now 
any  more  than  there  ever  had  been.  The  coach 
man's  order  was  changed  ;  and  when  they  arrived  at 
Mr.  Warwick's  house,  Eileen  marched  up  the  steps 
with  a  proud,  firm  tread,  while  the  stately  Philippa, 
mortally  ashamed  of  herself  and  Eileen  and  the 
whole  affair,  walked  guiltily  behind  with  a  very  red 
face.  In  her  heart  she  had  always  wished  Eileen  to 


238  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

marry  the  rich  banker,  for  she  knew  what  a  "  stead 
ier  "  wealth  would  be  to  her ;  and  of  course  forswear 
ing  it  was  nonsense.  At  the  same  time  this  was 
not  legitimate,  this  extraordinary  morning  visit  to  a 
man  in  his  sick-room,  as  a  preliminary  to  matrimony. 
It  was  an  indecent  escapade,  Philippa  said  to  her 
self;  and  being  a  party  to  it  was  abhorrent  to  her. 
But  letting  Eileen  go  through  her  absurd  scene 
alone  would  be  worse ;  so  she  allowed  herself  to  be 
drawn  in. 

Philippa  could  not  bear,  either,  to  see  a  young 
girl  sacrificed  to  an  invalid.  Mr.  Warwick  was  hope 
lessly  ill,  they  had  been  told,  but  he  might  live  on 
and  on  for  months  or  years.  However,  there  was 
no  more  use  in  trying  to  stop  the  young  woman 
now,  than  in  requesting  the  breezes  of  heaven  not 
to  blow;  so  she  followed  in  the  girl's  wake,  with 
downcast  eyes. 

Mr.  Warwick  had  had  a  bad  night,  the  English 
nurse,  whom  they  summoned,  said,  but  perhaps 
they  might  see  him  for  a  moment  only.  He  was 
very  weak,  but  the  doctor  did  not  find  that  the 
ladies'  visit  of  the  day  before  had  done  him  harm. 

"Could  I  see  him  for  a  minute  alone?"  asked 
Eileen,  boldly. 

Philippa  blushed  more  scarlet  than  ever.  "  I  will 
go  with  you,"  she  said  reproachfully  to  the  girl. 

So  they  went  into  Mr.  Warwick's  room  ;  and  there 
they  found  him,  oh,  so  pale  and  weak,  but  brightened 
at  the  thought  of  seeing  them.  Perhaps  he  was 
buoying  himself  up  with  a  ray  of  false  hope  again, 
foolish  man  that  he  was  !  Nothing  but  death,  it 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  239 

seemed,  could  extinguish  the  spark  which  glowed 
whenever  he  saw  Eileen. 

Eileen  went  to  the  bedside,  and  took  one  of  the 
thin  hands  in  both  her  own.  "  You  are  going  to  be 
well  soon,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  I  am  to  make  you 
so.  Listen,  dear  !  "  Her  lips  quivered  a  little  as 
she  uttered  the  last  word,  and  Mr.  Warwick  flushed 
painfully. 

Philippa  sauntered  into  the  dressing-room,  and 
entered  into  a  low  dialogue  with  the  nurse. 

"  You  are  not  strong  enough  to  talk  about  it  now, 
nor  even  to  hear  me  talk  much.  I  shall  announce 
our  engagement  as  soon  as  I  leave  here ;  and  as  soon 
as  you  are  able,  we  will  be  married." 

The  poor  man  shook  his  head,  and  put  his  hand 
over  his  eyes.  Eileen  kissed  the  hand.  "  That 's 
all  now,  darling.  I  only  wish  you  were  poor  and 
not  rich.  Will  you  lie  here,  and  think  of  my  happi 
ness  and  yours  until  I  come  again  ?  I  must  not  tire 
you ;  I  shall  come  again  to-morrow.  I  am  yours, 
and  you  are  mine."  And  slipping  a  ring  off  her 
finger,  Eileen  placed  it  upon  Mr.  Warwick's  ema 
ciated  hand.  "Come,  Philippa  !"  And  she  burst 
from  the  room  before  the  bewildered  man  could  find 
breath  wherewith  to  utter  a  word.  Even  then  he 
could  not  call  her  back,  although  he  tried.  He 
looked  at  the  ring  in  bewilderment;  he  imprinted 
a  timid  little  kiss  upon  it ;  and  sinking  back  upon 
his  pillow  and  closing  his  eyes,  he  lay  dreaming, 
half  unconscious,  of  the  most  blissful  moment  of 
his  life. 

"  Oh,  Eileen,"  said  Philippa,  her  face  blazing,  as 


240  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

they  entered  the  carriage  again,  to  go  home  (the 
whole  thing  had  taken  hardly  five  minutes) ,  "  what 
have  I  been  a  party  to?  " 

"  To  the  one  transaction  of  my  career  of  which  I 
am  not  ashamed,"  returned  Eileen,  looking  heroic, 
although  she  seemed  on  the  point  of  breaking  down. 
"  It  is  odd  to  you ;  but  you  don't  know  how  the  dear 
thing  has  worshipped  me,  and  how  I  have  driven 
him  about  until  he  has  been  nearly  demented,  and 
he  so  sweet  and  gentle  and  kind  through  everything  ! 
Philippa,  love  is  a  word  I  shall  never  take  upon  my 
lips ;  but  every  other  noble  feeling  inspires  me 
when  I  think  of  that  man." 

"  And  yet  without  love  all  the  other  feelings  are 
nothing,"  sighed  Philippa.  "  How  I  wish  you  were 
not  such  a  whirlwind,  Eileen  !  And  how  I  wish  I 
knew  whether  I  have  done  an  absolute  wrong  in 
letting  this  thing  go  on  or  not." 

"You  couldn't  have  stopped  it,"  said  Eileen; 
"  so  don't  disturb  yourself  on  that  score." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  you,  Eileen,"  resumed  Philippa, 
"  you  make  my  brain  reel ;  and  yet  I  believe  I  am 
more  in  sympathy  with  this  move  —  if  it  could  only 
have  been  made  sooner  and  not  so  theatrically  — 
than  with  any  of  the  others.  However,  let  us  keep 
this  strictly  private  at  present." 

"  Private  !  "  cried  Eileen ;  "  I  shall  make  my  en 
gagement  to  Mr.  Warwick  public  in  another  hour." 

"I  forbid  it,"  said  Philippa.  "If  you  have  any 
regard  for  me,  you  will  not  do  this  and  displease  me. 
Mr.  Warwick  is  too  ill  now  ;  he  may  not  live,  Eileen. 
Wait  a  few  weeks,  at  least." 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS. 


241 


"  Not  a  moment !  "  said  Eileen,  firmly ;  and  her 
chin  was  set  beyond  appeal ;  "  I  can't.  I  hurried 
about  this  because  I  cannot  be  rid  of  Colonel  Bev- 
erley  without  something  positive  to  tell  him.  You 
don't  know  him,  Philippa ;  he  would  never  let  me 
go.  He  is  the  only  man  I  am  afraid  of.  I  am 
afraid  of  him  when  I  am  alone  with  him." 

"  I  will  stay  in  the  room  with  you,  dear,  if  you 
wish  it,"  urged  Philippa.  "You  have  a  right  to 
change  your  mind,  and  he  is  not  coward  enough  to 
intimidate  you.  He  is  a  gentleman." 

"  Yes,  he  is;  no,  he  isn't,"  answered  Eileen,  to 
the  last  two  statements.  "  He  had  a  gleam  in  his 
eye,  and  he  means  to  alarm  me  into  submission.  I 
know  him.  I  shall  tell  him  that  I  am  engaged.  He 
won't  tell  anybody,  you  may  be  sure,  and  we  won't 
tell  any  one  else  for  the  present,  if  that  will  please 
you,  Philippa.  But  I  will  see  him  alone,  I  would 
rather ;  he  will  never  be  contented  until  he  does  see 
me,  and  it 's  much  better  to  have  it  over." 

Philippa  had  to  content  herself  with  this 
compromise. 

Eileen,  the  bold,  the  daring,  felt  herself  very  small 
and  weak  when  twelve  o'clock  came,  and  with  it  her 
outraged  lover.  But  she  went  to  meet  him,  as  he 
came  in,  with  a  front  of  steel.  "  Colonel  Beverley," 
she  said,  looking  up  at  him  unflinchingly,  although  a 
tell-tale  trip-hammer  in  her  breast  was  sending  the 
blood  irregularly  into  her  face  and  out,  "  I  have  a 
piece  of  news  for  you." 

It  was  what  he  had  feared  then ;  Jack  had  lied  to 
him  again.  He  had  said  he  was  going  off  in  the 
16 


242  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

morning ;  and  when  Colonel  Beverley,  in  his  despera 
tion,  trying  every  means  to  circumvent  him,  had 
gone  to  Government  House,  one  of  Carbury's  ser 
vants  told  him  —  as  a  blind,  of  course,  —  that  the 
Captain  Sahib  (Jack)  was  ill  upstairs.  So  much  for 
true  morality ! 

"  A  piece  of  news?  "  he  repeated,  with  kindly  sur 
prise  ;  "  well,  let  me  hear  it.  Let 's  sit  down,  dearest ! 
Is  your  Arab  dead?  or  has  Barney  eaten  one  of 
his  quail  ?  It 's  sad  news,  I  judge,  from  your 
expression." 

"  No,  not  altogether  sad,"  said  Eileen,  forcing  a 
smile.  "  I  am  engaged  to  Mr.  Warwick,  and  he, 
you  know,  is  frightfully  ill.  That  is  the  sad  part 
of  it." 

Colonel  Beverley  fastened  a  piercing  look  upon 
his  promised  bride  of  the  day  before,  as  well  he 
might.  Eileen  was  frightened,  but  she  had  nerved 
herself  up  to  go  through  any  kind  of  scene,  and  did 
not  show  her  fright. 

"Is  there  insanity  in  your  family?"  he  asked 
with  pretended  anxiety;  and  indeed  a  stronger 
man  might  have  been  staggered  by  the  rapidity  of 
Eileen's  changes  of  base. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  like  that !  "  said  Eileen,  losing 
her  temper  and  stamping  her  foot  angrily.  She  saw 
her  mistake  now,  in  not  having  either  refused  this 
interview  altogether,  or  placed  herself  on  the  right 
footing,  which  was  disgust  at  Colonel  Beverley's  con 
duct,  and  a  determination  to  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  him.  Her  fear  of  dragging  Jack  into  a 
quarrel  with  his  father  had  caused  her  to  appear 


THE  B  EVER  LEYS.  243 

undignified,  erratic,  and  in  fact  almost  insane.  "  I 
do  owe  you  an  explanation,  I  am  aware,"  she  said 
more  quietly,  "and  I  will  give  it  you." 

"  Well,  considering  the  fact  that  I  left  you  late 
yesterday  only  my  affianced  wife,  that 's  all,  I  may 
not  deserve  any  explanation  of  this  sudden  over 
turning  of  the  whole  system  of  the  spheres;  you 
know  best  about  that.  Don't  trouble  to  tell  me 
about  it,  if  it's  a  bore.  Besides,  at  this  rate  of 
speed,  you  may  be  promising  yourself  to  another 
man  by  night ;  so  why  bother  about  so  many  ex 
planations  ?  One  at  the  end  —  if  there  comes  an 
end  —  will  do  for  all." 

Eileen  stood  before  the  Colonel,  a  picture  of  un 
appeasable  wrath.  "  I  am  accountable  to  no  one 
for  my  actions,"  she  said.  "I  have  changed  my 
views  concerning  you,  and  I  would  not  on  any 
account  marry  you,  that  is  all." 

"Then  you  are  not  engaged  to  Mr.  Warwick?" 
Colonel  Beverley  asked.  "  Pardon  me  "if  I  do  not 
understand,  quite.  You  have  engaged  yourself  to 
him  since  last  night,  —  and  he  very  ill  in  bed  ? 
Your  story  has  an  air  of  unreality  about  it.  It 
seems  incredible,  in  fact." 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  Mr.  Warwick,"  she  said 
boldly,  with  a  large  lump  in  her  throat  nevertheless. 

Colonel  Beverley  had  really  grasped  the  situation 
perfectly.  He  knew  that  Eileen  in  a  fit  of  pique 
at  having  been  deceived,  and  really  not  daring  to 
change  so  rapidly  from  father  to  son,  had  thrown 
herself,  perhaps  by  letter,  into  Mr.  Warwick's  arms. 
"  Daring  little  scatter-brain  !  "  he  thought.  "  Fool- 


244  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

ish  baby  !  A  dead  man  my  rival,  eh?  "  And  then 
there  occurred  the  pleasing  thought,  to  his  machi 
nating  mind,  that  Eileen  would  be  a  more  suitable 
match  a  year  hence,  as  inheritress  of  the  Warwick 
millions.  Still,  that  was  only  passing ;  he  could  not 
let  slight  and  humiliation  go  by  so  easily. 

"  Eileen,"  he  said  very  softly,  changing  his  tone, 
"  you  are  only  a  child,  and  you  have  had  so  much 
worry  lately  that  it  has  unstrung  you.  You  are 
mine,  you  know ;  I  have  not  released  you  from  our 
engagement.  It  is  my  duty  to  look  after  you. 
Now  think  no  more  about  marriage  at  present. 
Let  us  be  quietly  happy.  Warwick  is  very  sick ; 
and  much  credit  as  your  sweet,  sacrificing  spirit  does 
you,  you  cannot  be  allowed  to  go  on  with  that  step. 
Jack  has  tried  to  injure  his  own  father,  who,  old  as 
he  is  in  the  ways  of  the  world,  has  no  weapon 
with  which  to  reply  to  his  stabs  in  the  back.  Let 
us  be  patient  and  wait.  Time  will  right  me ;  I  only 
ask  for  that." 

"Jack  has  not  tried  to  injure  you,"  answered 
Eileen,  loftily.  "  It  is  you  who  tried  to  injure  him, 
and  succeeded.  My  peculiar  lot  forces  me  into 
strange  complications,  and  sometimes  I  have  to 
act  with  lightning-quickness.  I  cannot  argue  with 
you.  I  would  not  listen  to  you  again,  if  you  fol 
lowed  me  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  I  shall  marry 
Mr.  Warwick,  or  remain  unmarried." 

"  And  where  is  Jack?  "  asked  the  Colonel,  whose 
gentleness  was  fitful.  "  You  have  been  engaged  to 
him,  I  suppose,  and  thrown  him  over  within  the  last 
twenty- four  hours?  " 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  245 

Eileen  curled  her  lip,  and  started  toward  the 
door,  without  a  word.  Colonel  Beverley  caught  her 
by  the  wrist,  and  forced  her  to  sit  beside  him  on 
the  sofa.  He  drew  her  close  to  him,  and  kissed  her 
angry  face  wildly  with  fiery  kisses.  "  Eileen,"  he 
begged,  "  don't  send  me  away,  —  don't,  in  Heaven's 
name  !  What  have  I  done  but  love  you  too  well  ? 
What  proof  can  I  give,  do  you  ask?  My  son  is 
estranged  from  me  on  your  account ;  and  now  you 
leave  me.  No,  no,  darling,"  for  Eileen  was  mak 
ing  a  mad  struggle  to  get  away,  "you  cannot  go. 
You  must  stay.  Let  me  tell  you,  dear,  I  have  never 
begun  to  tell  you  the  extent  of  my  burning  love  for 
you." 

Eileen  had  ceased  to  struggle ;  she  lay  passively 
against  his  shoulder,  her  eyes  shut,  her  muscles 
relaxed.  Colonel  Beverley  looked  anxiously  at  the 
quiet  figure.  He  laid  her  upon  the  sofa,  and  seeing 
her  still  rigid,  ran  to  ask  for  water,  for  fear  of  alarm 
ing  the  house  if  he  called. 

As  soon  as  he  was  at  the  end  of  the  room,  Eileen 
opened  her  eyes,  started  to  her  feet,  and  was  out  in 
a  fraction  of  a  second.  By  the  time  the  Colonel 
returned  to  the  empty  sofa,  she  was  in  her  dressing- 
room  sponging  her  face  vigorously,  trying  to  remove 
the  insulting  stains  of  the  kisses  which  had  put  the 
crowning  touches  to  the  loathing  she  should  always 
feel  for  Colonel  Beverley. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  "\/"OU  may  hear  strange  '  gup  '  about  me,"  said 

*•  Colonel  Beverley,  laughingly,  at  the  Club,  to 
Tom  Carbury,  whom  he  had  asked  to  lunch  with 
him.  Colonel  Beverley  was  looking  very  well ; 
bright  and  easy,  and  as  young  as  Jack.  "  A  good 
deal  younger  than  Jack,"  thought  Carbury,  who 
knew  how  the  poor  boy  was  tossing  and  turning  on 
his  bed  at  that  moment. 

"  I  don't  take  much  stock  in  '  gup,'  "  answered 
Tom,  carelessly.  He  was  in  rather  an  uncomfort 
able  position,  as  regarded  Jack,  and  was  lunching 
with  the  Colonel  partly  that  he  might  learn  better 
what  to  do.  There  was  a  wound  on  Jack's  head, 
which  had  not  been  noticed  at  first ;  but  it  had  bled 
and  bled,  quietly,  and  had  bidden  fair  to  be  ugly  at 
one  time,  owing  to  delay.  It  would  be  a  satisfaction 
to  know  something. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  the  truth,  Carbury,"  the  Colonel 
went  on ;  "  it 's  better  you  should  know.  You  are  a 
friend  of  us  all,  and  have  been  in  it  somewhat." 

Tom  looked  up.  "  I  'm  Jack's  friend,  you  know, 
Bev,"  he  said  distinctly ;  "  you  understand  that. 
Nobody  says  a  word  against  the  boy  to  me.  Now 
go  on,  if  you  like." 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


247 


"  Oh,  who  is  n't  his  friend  ?  "  laughed  Colonel 
Beverley,  gayly.  "  Rustic  simplicity  always  fetches 
the  populace.  No.  Jack,  as  you  know,  as  everybody 
knows,  was  wild  —  gone  —  mad  over  Lady  Ellen. 
I  did  n't  know  it  for  a  long  time ;  at  least,  I  did  n't 
choose  to  know  it,  because  I  thought  it  would  die 
out.  I  was  getting  rather  deep  in  that  direction 
myself.  I  offered  to  withdraw  in  Jack's  favor,  — 
ridiculous  situation,  was  n't  it  ?  —  but  Jack,  who  is  a 
filial  dog,  —  if  I  do  say  it,  who  should  n't,  —  offered 
to  withdraw  in  mine,  and  did  withdraw,  by  Jove  ! 
The  very  idea  of  a  father  and  son  competing  for  the 
same  matrimonial  prize  was  distasteful  to  us  both, 
naturally.  In  vain  I  assured  Jack  that  I  was  not 
hit ;  the  thought  was  enough  for  him.  He  's  an 
odd,  sentimental  dog ;  and  my  lady,  in  a  fit  of  pique 
at  what  she  calls  the  desertion  of  both,  is  going  to 
marry  old  Warwick,  with  both  feet  in  the  grave,  I 
hear." 

Carbury  was  not  anxious  the  Colonel  should  take 
him  for  a  gullible  fool.  But  he  had  sworn  to  Jack. 
"  You  are  lucky,"  he  said,  "  in  having  a  son  like 
that ;  they  don't  grow  on  every  bush,  and  I  don't 
know  one  like  him.  He  's  too  honorable ;  that 's 
the  trouble." 

"  I  'm  not  worrying  over  that,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"  His  honor  won't  keep  him  awake  nights.  He  's 
too  confoundedly  romantic ;  that 's  the  trouble.  He 
quarrelled  with  me  for  nothing,  and  won't  make  up. 
I  don't  even  know  where  he  is  now,  do  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Carbury,  "  I  know.  Old  Warwick, 
they  say,  can't  pull  through.  Does  the  girl  prefer  a 


248  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

corpse  to  two  fine  figures  of  men,  like  you  and 
Jack?" 

"  It  was  not  a  question  of  preference,"  answered 
the  Colonel,  mysteriously.  "  But,"  he  added  with  a 
sigh,  "  I  am  awfully  fond  of  that  charming  creature, 
and  life  seems  dark  without  her,  and  really  —  " 
And  Colonel  Beverley  tried  to  pull  a  long  face,  and 
look  sad,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Carbury  kept  his  counsel,  but  he  remembered  too 
distinctly  Jack's  bitterness  to  believe  this  tale.  A 
simple  withdrawal  would  have  raised  Jack's  esteem 
for  his  father,  not  laid  it  in  the  dirt.  But  he  told 
Jack  nothing  of  all  this.  And  when  Jack  was  able, 
and  just  before  he  left  Calcutta,  he  wrote  Eileen  a 
note ;  and  this  is  what  he  said  :  — 

"  I  understand.  It  is  better.  The  shadow  is  on  our 
hearts,  and  you  could  not  have  been  happy.  When  we 
are  both  old,  we  can  see  each  other,  and  my  pain  may 
perhaps  be  dulled,  although  I  do  not  see  any  chance  of 
it  now.  I  hope  you  are  not  suffering  one  millionth  of 
this." 

And  Eileen,  who  had  been  through  everything 
lately,  with  her  head  high,  and  who  seemed  able 
to  bear  things  which  laid  strong  men  low,  —  Eileen, 
who  had  hardly  given  way  once,  burst  into  wild  sobs 
over  the  little  letter. 

"Happiness,"  she  said,  "what  is  it?  There  is 
never  any  for  me.  And  since  Jack  has  known  me, 
he  has  had  little.  And  that  other,  that  dear  one  to 
whom  I  belong  now,  —  he  is  just  beginning  to  know 
it  now  that  he  can  have  almost  none." 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


249 


There  was  a  short,  a  very  short  period  of  hap 
piness  for  Mr.  Warwick.  He  rallied  temporarily 
under  Eileen's  ministrations,  and  at  one  time  they 
thought  he  might  be  got  on  board  ship  to  go  home. 
But  he  failed  again  steadily.  It  was  too  late  to  save 
his  life. 

But  Eileen  retrieved  a  part  of  the  trouble  she  had 
made  him,  and  indeed  she  exaggerated  her  own 
fault  in  the  matter. 

And  then  he  died,  —  brave,  patient,  happy  Mr. 
Warwick  !  He  had  had  three  weeks  of  bliss  unspeak 
able,  with  Eileen  reading  to  him,  talking  gently  to 
him,  or  when  he  grew  too  weak  for  reading  or  talk 
ing,  sitting  with  her  hand  in  his,  giving  him  his 
draughts,  and  letting  him  see  her  complete  serenity 
in  his  presence.  He  had  worried  a  little  over  one 
thing.  He  did  not  like  to  think  that  she  had  come 
simply  out  of  pity,  and  to  nurse  him ;  and  he  could 
not  bear  to  think  of  her  young  life  ruined  for  the 
second  time.  "  Dearest,"  he  said  once  feebly,  "  did 
you  care  for  either  of  the  Beverleys?  " 

"  For  Jack,  dear,"  she  said  softly ;  "  but  I  was 
engaged  to  his  father — for  about  a  minute,"  she 
added  archly. 

"  For  Jack,"  he  repeated  a  long  time  after ;  "  can 
you  not  marry  him  by  and  by?  " 

She  shook  her  head.     "  No,  darling." 

"  I  wish  you  could,"  he  said  wearily.  "  I  could 
die  so  much  more  easily  if  I  thought  you  would  be 
happily  married." 

"  I  am  happy  now,"  she  said,  "  or  I  should  be  if 
you  were  well.  If  you  will  get  strong,  and  leave 


2£0  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

the  horrid  money  to  somebody  else,  I  shall  be  the 
happiest  woman  in  the  world." 

That  night  he  died.  And  when  Eileen  came  in 
the  morning  to  sit  with  him,  they  told  her.  She 
had  learned  to  live  for  him ;  he  filled  all  her 
thoughts,  and  she  mourned  him  very  sorely. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

years  after  Mr.  Warwick's  death,  the  Win- 
terfords  and  Eileen  were  living  in  London, 
where  they  had  been  for  a  year.  Barney  had  some 
kind  of  an  appointment  in  the  India  office,  and  was 
enjoying  London  life  like  a  school-boy,  —  happy  and 
gay  with  his  children,  not  in  the  least  fatherly,  but 
knowing  enough  not  to  set  a  bad  example  to  his 
boys.  Altogether  the  Winterford  star  was  high  in 
the  firmament. 

Eileen  had  had  the  Warwick  millions  forced  upon 
her,  after  all.  There  were  no  relatives  to  contest  the 
will,  as  she  had  at  first  hoped.  The  will  had  been 
made  while  Eileen  was  on  her  way  to  Ceylon  with 
the  Maynards. 

Eileen  could  not  change  her  nature,  and  she  was 
still  gay  in  her  manner.  But  the  gayness  was  sub 
dued,  and  she  had  lost  her  wildness  in  a  great 
measure.  The  money  had  brought  heavy  respon 
sibilities,  and  she  had  insisted  upon  devoting  half 
her  income  to  her  nephews  and  nieces.  This  eased 
the  whole  household  in  Eccleston  Square,  for  Phi- 
lippa  would  always  live  with  her  father,  and  gave 
Eileen  a  happy  feeling  of  usefulness. 


252  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

Colonel  Beverley  had  been  intimate  at  their  Cal 
cutta  house  up  to  the  last  minute.  He  wore  a  dis 
tant,  yet  reverential  air,  to  which  Eileen  outwardly 
paid  no  attention,  but  which  she  saw,  of  course. 
He  spoke  most  feelingly  of  Mr.  Warwick,  and  ex 
tended  deep  sympathy  in  little  ways  to  Eileen,  who 
refused  to  receive  it.  But  after  they  sailed  they  had 
heard  only  occasionally  from  him. 

Mrs.  Maynard  was  stopping  with  Eileen  at  her 
house  in  Mayfair;  and  one  day  when  Eileen  and 
Philippa  were  driving  home,  expecting  to  find  her 
there,  they  came  upon  two  familiar  figures  turning 
a  corner.  "Why,"  exclaimed  Philippa,  without 
noticing  a  very  crimson  change  which  had  bespread 
Eileen's  cheek,  "  if  there  are  not  Captain  Carbury 
and  Jack  Beverley  !  How  delightful !  "  And  leaning 
from  the  window  she  bowed  to  the  two  men,  who 
instantly  came  to  the  carriage. 

"  Well,  if  here  is  not  a  bit  of  India  !  "  cried  Car- 
bury  ;  "  the  largest  half,  rather.  Do  let  us  both 
come  and  see  you  this  very  day  !  We  're  lost  in 
London,  where  nobody  remembers  us,  or  cares  about 
us,  if  they  do." 

Philippa  gave  them  her  number,  and  begged  them 
to  come  at  once. 

"  And  are  you  living  with  Barney?  "  asked  Captain 
Beverley,  in  a  low  voice,  of  Eileen.  He  had  hardly 
spoken  before.  He  had  been  doing  some  great 
work  in  the  Transvaal  and  the  Soudan,  and  had 
had  decorations  without  number. 

"  Oh,  no,"  Philippa  laughed,  "  Eileen  's  a  grand 
lady  now,  with  a  house  of  her  own  right  here." 


THE  REVERLEYS. 


253 


"And  may  I  come  there?  " 

Eileen  bowed.     They  were  both  awkward. 

After  the  men  had  gone,  Philippa  took  Eileen's 
hand  in  hers.  "  Don't  be  silly  any  longer,  Eileen  ! 
Jack  Beverley  is  evidently  as  much  in  love  as  ever ; 
he  deserves  something  from  you.  You  let  him  get 
where  he  is  now.  I  heard  he  was  in  London,  and 
I  hope  he  has  come  to  some  purpose.  You  have 
acted  hitherto  on  your  own  impulses,  Eileen,  and 
they  have  brought  you  into  great  unhappiness.  Be 
ruled  by  me  now,  dear  !  " 

"  Two  years  is  a  long  time,"  remarked  Eileen, 
quietly.  "  I  have  no  reason  to  think  Captain  Bev 
erley  unchanged."  But  although  her  tone  was 
quiet,  she  had  very  hard  work  to  keep  herself  so. 
The  sight  of  Jack  had  brought  back  everything,  — 
harrowing  scenes,  exciting  crises,  wild  actions, 
miserable  moments.  She  had  not  grown  pale 
and  pined,  as  most  women  do  under  unhappiness. 
Something  —  her  hard  heart,  she  said  —  had  almost 
always  kept  her  from  giving  way  or  being  ill.  It 
often  mortified  her  to  think  how  much  she  could 
stand.  Now,  to  Philippa's  surprise,  she  seemed 
thoroughly  unnerved.  She  trembled,  and  for  once 
she  did  not  go  on  with  the  talk.  When  they  had 
reached  home,  she  threw  herself  on  a  couch,  and 
sobbed  until  Philippa  grew  alarmed.  When  the  fit 
subsided,  "  I  am  afraid  of  life,"  Eileen  sobbed ;  "  I 
am  afraid  to  live  on.  There  is  always  some  ques 
tion  to  decide,  and  I  always  decide  wrong.  I  am 
forever  doing  theatrical,  extravagant  things,  you  tell 
me.  I  can't  help  it.  I  blush,  Philippa,  when  I 


254  THE  B EVER  LEYS. 

think  how  frantic  I  must  have  driven  you  by  my 
extremes  when  we  were  in  Calcutta ;  and  yet  I  am 
so  little  changed  that  if  I  had  it  all  to  do  over 
again,  I  could  do  no  differently,  —  that  is,  if  matters 
came  to  such  crises." 

"You  make  matters  difficult,  Eileen,"  said  Phi- 
lippa,  "  by  seeing  them  in  out-of-the-way  lights,  and 
by  taking  things  into  your  own  hands.  Of  course 
I  don't  know  now  about  Jack  Beverley ;  but  if  he 
asks  you  to  marry  him,  and  you  love  him,  why,  do 
so,  that 's  all." 

"  I  can't  make  a  quarrel  in  a  family,"  said  Eileen. 
"If  I  go  into  this  one,  I  do  that.  If  I  stay 
out,  I  do  not  make  Jack  any  more  miserable  than 
he  has  been  all  this  time,  —  nor  myself  either,  I 
suppose." 

"  There  you  are,"  said  Philippa ;  "  that 's  what  I 
mean.  You  have  to  decide  this  momentous  ques 
tion  of  the  quarrel  between  father  and  son,  when 
you  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Let  them  settle  it 
between  themselves.  You  need  not  marry  Jack's 
father;  and  as  there  is  no  longer  a  family  house 
where  you  are  all  obliged  to  meet,  there  will  be  no 
disagreeable  encounters." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Eileen,  burying  her  face  in  the 
pillow  again,  "  I  don't  see  why  I  can't  have  a  little  bit 
of  happiness.  I  never  have  had  any,  —  not  real,  per 
sonal  happiness  of  my  own,  I  mean.  Lately  I  have 
had  reflected  and  impersonal  happiness,  but  I  am 
selfish  enough  to  want  some  of  the  other  kind.  I 
never  have  been  happy,"  she  went  on,  in  a  patheti 
cally  childish  way,  "  except  that  little  time  in  Cal- 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


255 


cutta  when  Jack  was  with  me ;  and  then  I  was  n't 
really,"  she  added,  half  laughing,  "because  I  didn't 
know  enough  to  be." 

Mrs.  Maynard,  who  had  worried  over  Eileen  not 
a  little,  arrived  later  in  the  day,  and  found  her 
quite  recovered  from  her  outburst  of  the  morning, 
bright  and  apparently  happy.  "I  must  talk  about 
that  dear  man,"  Mrs.  Maynard  said.  (Eileen  had 
written  her  often,  and  she  knew  what  had  hap 
pened.)  "  It  was  a  blessed  thing  you  went  to  him, 
dear  girl." 

"  I  did  the  thing  in  my  usual  way,"  said  Eileen, 
sadly,  —  "  helter-skelter,  thunder  and  lightning ;  but 
I  am  thankful  I  went.  He  was  ecstatic ;  and  I  had 
a  glow  about  my  heart  I  shall  never  cease  to  feel. 
I  only  regret  we  could  not  have  been  married.  I 
wanted  the  right  to  mourn  him  and  to  bear  his 
name."  Eileen  always  spoke  in  this  calm  way  of 
Mr.  Warwick. 

"  It  was  better  as  it  came  about,"  said  Mrs.  May 
nard,  gently.  "  I  was  proud  of  you,  dear,  and  I  know 
he  enjoyed  more  in  those  few  weeks  of  your  pres 
ence  than  he  had  suffered  in  his  life.  A  great,  noble 
heart  he  had  ;  and  curiously  enough,  such  a  sensitive 
organization  that  he  could  not  help  giving  way 
under  your  rejection." 

"  Do  you  think  it  killed  him?  "  asked  Eileen,  in 
a  horrified  tone,  with  great  round  eyes. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Maynard ;  "  he  was  under  a 
doctor's  care  for  something,  —  an  Indian  liver,  I  be 
lieve,  —  when  we  first  knew  him,  Mr.  Maynard 
says.  He  could  not  have  lived  many  years." 


256  THE  BEVERLEYS, 

"  Jack  Beverley  is  in  London,"  said  Eileen,  shyly. 
"  Did  you  see  him  at  Calcutta?  " 

"  I  never  met  either  of  the  Beverley  men,"  an 
swered  Mrs.  Maynard.  "I  have  heard  so  much 
about  them,  however.  A  Calcutta  woman  told 
me  that  both  were  devoted  to  you,  —  the  father 
particularly." 

"  He  was  devoted  to  untruth,"  said  Eileen,  "  and 
me  incidentally.  I  disliked  him  extremely  at  last. 
Jack  is  quite  different,  and  one  of  my  best  friends." 
So  Eileen  admitted  the  Captain  to  her  friendship ; 
that  was  one  point  scored  for  him. 

Philippa  came  in  for  a  cup  of  tea,  and  to  see 
Mrs.  Maynard,  at  five.  "  I  left  word  for  our  two 
Calcutta  men  to  come  here,"  she  said.  "  They  had 
not  appeared  when  I  left."  And  the  words  were 
hardly  out  of  her  mouth  before  the  two  appeared. 

Captain  Carbury  asked  them  all  to  go  to  the  the 
atre  that  night.  "  And  to  dine  at  the  Criterion  too," 
he  said.  "  Will  you  ask  Barney?  That  is,  if  you  will 
dine  in  a  restaurant,  Lady  Barney,  and  you  other 
grand  ladies?  " 

"  We  were  to  dine  here,"  Philippa  said.  "  Eileen 
can't  waste  a  whole  dinner ;  so  I  invite  you  in  her 
name  to  come  here  too  !  " 

So  it  was  settled ;  and  there  was  a  merry,  reunited 
lot  that  night  dining  together.  Jack  had  the  post 
farthest  from  that  of  honor ;  he  sat  where  he  could 
see  Eileen,  however.  She  was  in  white  and  gold, 
and  looked  like  a  piece  of  rare  porcelain,  he 
thought.  Her  voice  was  like  the  music  of  the 
spheres  to  him,  and  her  face  was  a  poem  and  a  pic- 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


257 


ture  combined.  He  should  not  tell  her  of  his  love, 
nor  approach  her.  But  to  be  in  the  party  was  un 
safe,  and  Jack  resolved  he  could  not  come  so  near 
the  fire  again. 

All  Eileen's  old  frank  manner  with  him  was  gone ; 
she  addressed  him  rather  timidly,  and  her  hand  was 
cold  when  he  took  it.  Eileen's  impulse  might  be  to 
throw  herself  into  Mr.  Warwick's  arms ;  she  was  as 
shy  as  a  school-girl  with  this  boyish  lover.  Jack's 
boyishness,  however,  had  nearly  departed;  he  was 
really  perceptibly  gray,  and  his  face  was  worn,  for  so 
young  a  man. 

"  Now,"  said  Barney,  gayly,  "  here  's  to  our  very 
jolly  reunion,  and  to  these  good  visitors  of  ours, 
and  to  you  Jacky  and  Tommy,  returned  Anglos  ! 
I  'm  as  good  as  I  was,  barrin'  a  foot,  and  the  rest 
of  you  look  better  than  never ;  and  all  we  want  now 
is  old  Bev,  to  complete  the  party." 

Barney  knew  little  of  the  revolutions  in  the  family. 
He  had  seen  Colonel  Beverley's  devotion,  but  sup 
posed  that  it  had  died  out  somehow,  and  was  glad 
of  it. 

"  Where  is  your  father?  "  asked  Philippa,  gently. 

"  In  England,"  answered  Jack ;  "  he  has  been 
here  for  a  few  weeks,  and  is  coming  to  London 
to-morrow." 

Eileen  did  not  change  her  countenance  in  the 
least.  Jack's  was  the  only  name  which  had  ever  had 
the  power  to  make  her  show  outward  agitation. 

In  the  carriage,  at  the  theatre,  the  two  were  still 
separated,  although  Philippa  tried  to  arrange  their 
seats  together.  Eileen  deliberately  turned  her  chair 


258  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

so  that  no  one  could  speak  confidentially  to  her,  and 
Jack  had  no  idea  of  trying  to  do  so.  She  knew  he 
loved  her ;  he  knew  she  loved  him  ;  neither  would 
ever  dare  give  the  first  sign.  His  father's  treachery 
had  humiliated  Jack;  his  own  hand  seemed  soiled 
now. 

"  I  have  not  had  my  dinner  yet,"  said  Tom  Car- 
bury,  as  he  was  putting  on  Eileen's  wrap.  "My 
leave  is  so  short,  and  I  hate  so  going  back  to  that 
wretched  India,  that  I  am  going  to  make  the  most  of 
you  dear  people.  Shall  we  say  Friday  ?  And  where 
shall  the  dinner  be?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  throw  away  your  money,  Tom  !  "  said 
Barney.  "  Come  and  dine  with  us  on  Friday. 
Our  cook  has  the  touch  of  a  Meisonnier,  and  his 
dinners  are  as  finished." 

"  They  taste  of  oil  too,"  said  Eileen.  "  He  has  a 
decidedly  Italian  bent." 

"  Not  at  all,"  argued  Barney.  "  Frenchmen 
use  oil  too ;  you  're  not  half  trained  if  you  don't 
know  the  proper  use  of  olive  oil."  And  Barney 
went  on  explaining  his  theories,  as  they  left  the 
box. 

"  Another  evening  with  Jack,"  thought  Eileen. 
"  Another  evening  with  Eileen,"  thought  Jack.  Not 
two  words  had  they  exchanged,  nor  one  glance ;  but 
whole  discourses  and  all  the  eyesight  in  the  world 
would  not  have  meant  more  than  their  constrained 
silences.  They  both  felt,  every  instant ;  and  all 
through  the  play,  Eileen  knew  that  Jack  was  think 
ing  only  of  her.  Jack  himself  was  not  so  sure  of 
Eileen. 


THE  BEVERLEYS. 


259 


Mrs.  Maynard  was  not  deceived  long.  She  saw  in 
a  few  hours  that  Eileen  was  still  unsettled,  still  ill  at 
ease.  "  There  is  no  use  in  prescribing  employment 
for  her,"  she  said  to  herself.  "To  marry  is  her 
vocation." 

Eileen  would  not  speak  of  Jack  again.  She 
thought  about  nothing  but  the  Friday  night  when 
she  was  to  see  him  again,  estranged,  awkward,  to  be 
sure,  but  still  breathing  the  same  air.  How  little 
she  knew  of  his  past  now  !  How  she  longed  to  ask 
him  about  it !  She  did  not  dare  open  the  flood 
gates,  however;  for  there  would  be  no  stop  then, 
she  knew. 

One  night  coming  home  from  a  dinner,  she  saw  him 
walking  near  her  house.  "  Patient  boy  !  "  she  said  to 
herself.  And  yet  she  did  not  know  whether  it  was 
the  patience  of  hopeless  resignation  or  of  stifled 
hope.  Jack  did  not  know  which  it  was,  either. 

Jack  was  dreading  the  sight  of  his  father. 
He  had  not  seen  him  at  all,  and  he  hoped  he 
should  not.  On  the  Thursday,  Barney  and  Jack 
were  at  their  Club  together,  when  Colonel  Beverley 
came  in. 

"  Well,  Paddy,"  he  exclaimed  joyously,  at  sight  of 
them,  "  I  was  just  thinking  of  looking  you  up ;  and 
you,  my  dear  boy,"  he  said,  shaking  Jack  warmly 
by  the  rather  limp  hand,  "  come  to  me ;  I  've  a 
lodging  for  you  next  mine." 

"  I  'm  very  comfortable,  sir,  thank  you,  with  Car- 
bury,"  answered  Jack,  quietly.  He  was  amazed  to 
find  his  father  looking  so  young  and  well.  He  him 
self  had  had  no  good  looks  to  lose,  but  he  knew  he 


260  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

was  looking  poorly.  It  was  a  strange  feeling  the 
sight  of  the  man  who  had  once  been  everything  to 
him  awakened.  He  was  ashamed  of  him  now,  and 
once  he  had  been  so  proud  ! 

"Come  to-morrow  and  dine,"  said  Barney. 
"We've  an  Indian  party,  and  some  Americans  — 
awfully  good  sort  —  stopping  with  Eileen.  Do 
come  ! " 

Jack  said  not  a  word ;  but  he  felt  an  indisposition 
coming  on  which  would  prevent  his  attendance  on 
the  following  night. 

"Will  you  dine  with  me  here  to-night,  Jack?" 
asked  Colonel  Beverley,  kindly. 

Barney  had  turned  away  to  speak  to  a  group  of 
men. 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  curtly,  "  I  '11  not  dine  with  you, 
sir." 

"  Now  look  here,  Jack,"  said  the  Colonel,  taking 
him  by  the  arm,  to  Jack's  disgust,  and  leading  him 
into  a  window-recess  from  which  they  could  be  seen 
on  the  street,  looking  very  familiar  and  happy  to 
gether.  "  It 's  our  misfortune  to  have  had  bitter 
words.  But  I  am  your  father,  and  I  have  a  right  to 
demand  civil  treatment  from  you,  at  least  in  public. 
That 's  all  I  ask ;  do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

Jack  bowed.  "  I  hear  you,  sir ;  you  shall  have 
civil  treatment  from  me  —  in  public."  And  he 
turned  to  walk  away. 

"  Nonsense,  boy  !  you  know  what  I  mean,"  said 
the  Colonel,  testily.  "You  must  come  and  stay  in 
the  same  lodgings,  or  people  will  talk." 

"  I  will  leave  London  at  once,  sir,  this  very  night," 


THE  B EVER  LEYS.  26 1 

Jack  replied,  "  rather  than  do  that ;  and  in  fact  I 
have  decided  to  do  so,  at  any  rate."  And  he  turned 
quickly  back  to  a  knot  of  men,  to  avoid  further 
argument. 

Colonel  Beverley  grated  his  teeth  together,  and 
ground  his  heel  into  the  floor.  "  I  should  n't  mind 
quarrelling  with  the  fool  nor  killing  him,  but  every 
body  knows  what  the  quarrel  is  about.  Well,  I  shall 
take  the  bull  by  the  horns,  and  walk  straight  into 
the  enemy's  camp  now."  And  he  hailed  a  hansom 
outside,  having  learned  Eileen's  number  from  Bar 
ney,  and  drove  to  her  house. 

Jack,  when  he  left  the  Club,  had  walked  aim 
lessly,  and  yet  in  the  direction  of  Park  Lane,  uncon 
scious  of  it  as  he  thought  himself  to  be.  To  leave 
London,  and  not  to  see  her  again ;  to  be  thrust 
out  of  Paradise  for  the  second  time  when  he  was 
contented  with  just  looking  at  her, — oh,  how  cruel 
his  fate  !  He  must  explain  to  Eileen  and  to  Phi- 
lippa  his  proposed  defection.  One  visit  would  have 
done  for  both ;  but  he  went,  it  is  needless  to  say,  to 
Eileen's  house  first. 

Mrs.  Maynard  and  Eileen  were  in  the  morning- 
room,  and  his  father  was  with  them  !  Impotent 
rage  and  despair  seized  poor  Jack.  It  was  too 
late  to  draw  back,  so  he  went  boldly  forward. 
"Thank  Heaven  for  Mrs.  Maynard's  restraining 
presence  !  "  both  Jack  and  Eileen  fervently  ejacu 
lated  to  themselves.  The  visit  was  cold  and  formal. 
Eileen  had  never  meant  to  see  Colonel  Beverley, 
but  it  could  not  be  helped. 

After  a  few  minutes  Jack  rose  stiffly,  and  said, 


262  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Lady  Barney  now,  to  make  my 
excuses  for  to-morrow  night." 

"  Excuses  ?  What  a  pity  to  spoil  our  cosey  party  !  " 
said  Mrs.  Maynard. 

"  I  want  to  show  you  a  painting  of  my  niece 
Biddy  Winterford,"  said  Eileen,  desperately.  "Will 
you  come  to  the  drawing-room? " 

"  May  I  not  see  it  too?  "  asked  Colonel  Beverley. 
But  Eileen,  although  he  spoke  distinctly,  pretended 
not  to  hear,  and  he  could  not  leave  Mrs.  Maynard 
alone.  So  Jack  and  Eileen  were  together. 

They  went  into  the  drawing-room,  and  Jack  looked 
at  the  portrait  of  Biddy,  although  he  did  not  see  a 
feature  nor  a  stroke  of  it.  "  I  am  going  away, 
Eileen,"  he  said,  "  to-night.  It  is  of  no  use ;  I 
cannot  bear  it.  I  am  a  coward ;  not  to  be  with 
you  always  is  the  awful  thought  which  is  coming 
before  me  every  moment,  and  I  must  run  away 
from  it." 

•  Eileen  did  not  know  how  she  came  to  lure  Jack 
off  in  this  fashion.  It  was  the  straw  at  which  the 
drowning  man  clutches,  she  thinks  now.  She  could 
not  see  him  leave  her  forever  without  a  word.  This 
sight  of  him  had  roused  the  old  feeling,  strength 
ened  it,  and  added  a  hundred  new  feelings.  She 
must  at  least  say  good-by  to  him  alone  ! 

She  stammered  out  a  criticism  of  the  portrait. 
"It  wants  something,"  she  said;  "I  don't  know 
exactly  what  it  wants." 

"  I  know  exactly  what  /want,"  said  Jack.  "And 
if  I  can't  have  it,  the  next  thing  I  pray  for  is  numb 
ness,  —  the  capacity  not  to  suffer.  Oh,  Eileen,  your 


THE  BEVERLEYS.  263 

little  note,  when  you  told  me  you  did  care,  put 
new  strength  into  me,  —  but  only  to  love  you  more 
with.  It  all  goes  to  that.  In  other  respects  I  am 
as  weak  as  a  baby." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Eileen.  And  then  she  turned 
her  head  away,  and  Jack  could  not  help  seizing  her 
hand.  "  I  loved  you  when  you  were  poor,  Eileen," 
he  said  softly.  "  I  wish  you  were  so  now.  But  if  we 
love  each  other  —  and  we  do  ?  "  —  Eileen  looked  up 
into  his  face  with  a  gaze  which  settled  that  point 
beyond  a  question,  —  "  why  should  anything  come 
between  us,  after  all?" 

"  Something  has  come  between  us,"  answered 
Eileen,  sadly ;  "  but  I  sometimes  have  thought  we 
both  of  us  exaggerated  the  shadow  a  little,  —  now 
that  I  am  older  and  have  learned  wisdom." 

"Oh,"  said  Jack,  with  almost  a  groan,  "you  pre 
cious  thing !  " 

This  was  not  a  logical  answer,  but  they  were  be 
yond  logic.  To  repeat  what  they  said  now  would  be 
taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  both.  Jack  looked 
down  upon  the  golden  hair,  the  sweet  face  down- 
turned,  the  little  hands  folded  in  her  lap.  He  whis 
pered  softly  to  her,  and  Eileen's  face  looked  at  him 
then  full  of  radiance,  and  in  her  eyes  were  tears. 
The  happy  fate  of  the  strong,  steadfast  man  and  the 
wilful,  capricious  woman  was  settled. 

Colonel  Beverley  prolonged  his  visit  far  beyond 
the  customary  limit,  and  at  last,  with  a  farewell  for 
his  impolite  hostess,  went  gayly  (and  angrily)  away. 
Mrs.  Maynard  sat  smiling  softly  to  herself  as  the 
hours  went,  and  the  two  wanderers  did  not  return. 


264  THE  BEVERLEYS. 

She  was  just  going  to  dress  for  dinner,  when  she  saw 
their  shadows  in  the  doorway. 

They  thought  she  had  gone.  Eileen's  face  was 
luminous;  her  eyes  were  gleaming  softly,  her  lips 
quivering  with  joy.  Mrs.  Maynard  slipped  out  by  a 
side  door.  "  This  is  her  rightful  lover,"  she  said. 
"  No  one  has  ever  called  that  look  into  her  face 
before.  How  thankful  I  am  she  is  happy  and 
at  rest !  " 


THE   END. 


UPTON'S  HANDBOOKS  ON  MUSIC. 

Comprising    The   Standard   Operas,    The  Standard  Oratorios, 
The  Standard  Cantatas,   The  Standard  Symphonies. 

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TALES  FROM  FOREIGN  TONGUES, 


MEMORIES.    A  Story  of  German  Love.     By 

MAX   MULLER. 

GRAZIELLA.    A    Story  of  Italian  Love.     By 

ALPHONSE  DE  LAMARTINE. 
MADELEINE.     A  Story  of  French  Love.     By 

JULES  SANDEAU. 
MARIE.     A    Story    of    Russian    Love.      By 

ALEXANDER  PUSHKIN. 

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SESAME   AND    LILIES. 

THREE   LECTURES   BY  JOHN    RUSKIN. 
I.  OF  KINGS'  TREASURES. 
II.  OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS. 
III.  OF  THE  MYSTERY  OF  LIFE. 
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The  size,  shape,  and  compactness  of  this  issue  make  it  an  admira 
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LIFE    OF     ABRAHAM     LINCOLN, 
By  the  Hon.  ISAAC    N.    ARNOLD.    With  Steel 
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It  is  decidedly  the  best  and  most  complete  Life  of  Lincoln 
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Mr.  Arnold  succeeded  to  a  singular  extent  in  assuming  the 
broad  view  and  judicious  voice  of  posterity  and  exhibiting  the 
greatest  figure  of  our  time  in  its  true  perspective.  —  The  Trib 
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It  is  the  only  Life  of  Lincoln  thus  far  published  that  is  likely 
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The  author  knew  Mr.  Lincoln  long  and  intimately,  and  no  one 
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Mr.  Arnold's  "  Life  of  President  Lincoln  "  is  excellent  in 
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HTHE    AZTECS.     Their    History,    Man- 

-*•      ners,  and  Customs.    From  the  French  of  LUCIEN 
BIART.     Authorized  translation  by  J.  L.  GARNER. 
Illustrated,  8vo,  340  pages,  price,  $2.00. 

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aspirations  finds  record  here.—  The  Tribune,  Chicago. 

The  man  who  can  rise  from  the  study  of  Lucien  Biart's  inval 
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the  face  of  the  earth  again  live  before  us.  Their  taxes  and  trib 
utes,  their  marriage  ceremonies,  their  burial  customs,  laws, 
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book  is  a  very  interesting  one,  and  is  brought  out  with  copious 
illustrations.  —  The  Traveller,  Boston. 

M.  Biart  is  the  most  competent  authority  living  on  the  sub 
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THE  BOOK-LOVER.     A  Guide  to  the 
Best    Reading.      By  JAMES    BALDWIN,    Ph.D. 
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the  best  critics  in  this  country,  an  edition  of  one  thousand  copies 
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better  than  he  ever  did  before,  but  to  love  them  more  wisely, 
more  intelligently,  more  discriminatingly,  and  with  more  profil 
to  his  own  soul.  — Literary  World,  Boston. 


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THE    STORY   OF   TONTY. 

AN    HISTORICAL    ROMANCE. 

By  Mrs.  MARY  HARTWELL  CATHERWOOD. 
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"  The  Story  of  Tonty  "  is  eminently  a  Western  story,  beginning 
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at  Starved  Rock,  on  the  Illinois  River.  It  weaves  the  adventures 
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A  powerful  story  by  a  writer  newly  sprung  to  fame.  .  .  .  All  the 
century  we  have  been  waiting  for  the  deft  hand  that  could  put  flesh  upon 
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comes  from  the  reading  of  the  romance  with  a  quickened  interest  in  our 
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transport  us  to  the  dreamful  realms  where  fancy  is  monarch  of  fact.  — 
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"The  Story  of  Tonty"  is  full  of  the  atmosphere  of  its  time.  It 
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Union,  New  York. 

Original  in  treatment,  in  subject,  and  in  all  the  details  of  mise  en 
scene,  H  must  stand  unique  among  recent  romances.  —News,  Chicago. 


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THE  HUMBLER   POETS.    A  Collec 
tion  of  Newspaper  and  Periodical  Verse.     1870  to 
1885.    By  SLASON  THOMPSON.    Crown  8vo,  459  pages, 
cloth,  gilt  top.    Price,  $2.00. 

In  half  calf  or  half  morocco,  $4.00. 


The  publishers  have  done  well  in  issuing  this  volume  in  a 
style  of  literary  and  artistic  excellence,  such  as  is  given  to  the 
works  of  the  poets  of  name  and  fame,  because  the  contents  richly 
entitle  it  to  such  distinction.  —  Home  Journal,  Boston. 

The  high  poetic  character  of  these  poems,  as  a  whole,  is  sur 
prising.  As  a  unit,  the  collection  makes  an  impression  which 
even  a  genius  of  the  highest  order  would  not  be  adequate  to  pro 
duce.  .  .  .  Measured  by  poetic  richness,  variety,  and  merit  of 
the  selections  contained,  the  collection  is  a  rarely  good  one 
flavored  with  the  freshness  and  aroma  of  the  present  time.  — 
Independent,  New  York. 

Mr.  Thompson  winnowed  out  the  chaff  from  the  heap,  and 
has  given  us  the  golden  grain  in  this  volume.  Many  old  news 
paper  favorites  will  be  recognized  in  this  collection,  —  many  of 
those  song-waifs  which  have  been  drifting  up  and  down  the 
newspaper  world  for  years,  and  which  nobody  owns  but  every 
body  loves  We  are  glad  for  ourselves  that  some  one  has  been 
kind  and  tender-hearted  enough  to  take  in  these  fugitive  chil 
dren  of  the  Muses  and  give  them  a  safe  and  permanent  home. 
The  selection  has  been  made  with  rare  taste  and  discrimination, 
and  the  result  is  a  delightful  volume.  —  Observer,  New  York. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS, 

COR.  WABASH  AVE.  AND  MADISON  ST.,  CHICAGO. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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